Kissing You That Friday Night

My name is Laila Vasser, I'm 15 years old and go to Fairfield High School in Chicago, Illinois. It's hard to say what my favorite hobbie is because, I have so many...
"No," I wrinkled my forehead as I deleted everything, and re-read the question sheet in my mind: name,age, school, favorite hobbie.
I heard a faint whine and something rub against my leg. I looked done under my desk at the small grey kitten.
"Hey, Cabbage." I reached down and stroked the soft fuz on Cabbage's back. She began to pur quietly as she rubbed her face on my hand. I reached my hand away and she gently tumbled over onto her side. I laughed but then remembered I had to finish the letter.
Hey! My name is Laila Vasser, I'm a Freshman at Fairfield High School in Chicago, Illinois. It's difficult to say-
"Ugh!" I exclaimed,"who talks like this in a letter?"
"Lai Lai?" I heard a small weak voice and my door, but I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"Yea, Em?" I rub my forehead and turn to face the small blonde girl.
"Dad says it's time for dinner and you better be ready and down stairs soon to eat because Laura was in the kitchen all day preparing this meal," she let out a faint cough and reached up to close the door. Emma always remembered everything word for word about what anyone told her, it always made me smile.
I swivled around in my chair and looked down at the laptop for a long while and then re-opened it.
My name is Laila Vasser. I began to type . Growing up has been different ever since Laura married my dad. She's 5 years younger than him, and I still tease him about how he must have always had a thing for younger women, and he just never grew out of it. But things weren't always like this for the Vasser's. Nah, my father used to live in Paris, France. Hense the super french last name. My biological mother, Karen Vasser, was one hundred percent French too, so I guess if you were to take it literally, I'd be 200% French, but no, unfortunatly, I have to settle for just one hundred. My father and mother had always discussed moving to Paris when Emma and I were old enough, meaning when she was 7 and I was 15. But our plans were canceled 4 years ago when my mother had died of heart failure. She had been in a line of people 135 deep in all of the city to get a heart transplant. When she was diagnosed with the heart disease she was told she didn't have long to live. The day she was called down to the hospital to recieve her new heart, the doctors had told her someone else needed it more than her and came in last minute. They were wrong. No one needed that heart more than my mother. She died the next day. I think I took it the hardest. My mom was my bestfriend and seeing her go like that, day by day, was heart wrenching. I still feel guilty, like, I could've done something to help. But my father always told me, 'you're not a doctor, sweetie, you couldn't have helped.' I still felt alone. A year ago dad met Laura and they got married 6 months later. Emma didn't understand, she wasn't upset like me, mainly because she was only three when mom died and didn't even know what passed away meant (my father never liked saying she died or is dead. I agree with him, passed away doesn't sound so harsh). But it's all okay now, I mean, Laura isn't that bad. She's pretty, and nice. Though I'm not comfortable with sharing the same last name as her...
"Why, good evening Laila, come join us for supper." My step-mom calls from the kitchen as i swirve around the corner to the table. I try not to roll my eyes but it's like ever since Laura came into our lives, she's been trying to like, impress me. It's getting old. If she's trying to impress me so much she wouldn't be so polite and tell me to excuse myself when I burped.
"Hi, Laura." I still refuse to call her, mom, but whenever I call her Laura she makes this weird face like she's dissapointed. I'm glad she expects me to call her mom, because I'm not going to. I'm not giving in that easily. Besides I feel like if I'm that comfortable with her, she'll like, want to lay my father and make mini Laura's. Nuh-uh that does NOT fly with me. Besides, she's not really my mother, but I guess she really wants to be one. She had been talking about children a lot lately, creeper.
"How was you're day Razzle?" My father asks me as he heaps a pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate, Laura gives him the eye. My dad has called me Razzle ever since I was 5 when he gave me my first pack of candy razzles and fell in love with them, I still love them to this day. Plus, I like the nickname, it makes me feel wild and spontaneous.
"Okay." I shrug and slide into the seat next to Emma whose small body isn't quite tall enough for her to see clear over the table. No one in our family is above 5'8", including my father, I'm only 5'2".
"What were you doing in your room all evening?" Laura says as she places a napkin on her lap and scoots her chair in.
Um, privacy much? "Writing." I give her a one word answer, I know this will make her want to know details.
"Writing for what?" She glances around the table like a curious kitten waiting for a response.
"Laila wants to get into a very high-standard summer art program in the city." My dad answers for me.
"Oh, wow, do you think you're, well, good enough?" Laura looks at me concerned.
I almost drop my fork as I drive it through my steak. Me? Good enough? OF COURSE I'M GOOD ENOUGH! I'M BETTER than just good, I AM FANTASIC! "Yeah." I say calmly.
"Laila has been into art since forever, she painted picasso like pictures while still in the whome of her own mother." He grinned.
I grinned too.
"And, and," Emma began, then cleared her throat when everyone was paying attention, "Lai Lai also got first place in her school art show for two years in a row!" I patted her small blonde head.
"Oh, I had no idea you were such an artist, Laila." Laura smiled and began to eat.