A Cullen Story
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or A Christmas Story. But just to clear things up, this is not an exact replica of ACS; this is my own plot...for the most part.

A/N: Many thanks to emoTWiLiGHT, my new beta! ;)

Chapter 2: Meet the Family

I must've dozed off, 'cause I was woken--rather rudely, I might add--by the neighbor's dogs causing a raucous. Typical. So-o-o typical. Growling under my breath, I rolled out of bed and stalked over to the window, leaning up against the frame. The Newton's dogs barking usually meant one thing and one thing only:

Carlisle was home.

Let me explain a little bit about my foster dad. Carlisle Cullen is a doctor, and as nice as they come, too. He's a swell guy, sure, but when it comes to those dogs, I swear by my Great-Aunt Hortense's turkey carver that he wants to stick 'em all in the car and dump em in a river. But hey, that's just me. Anyway...where was I...oh, yeah. He's a swell guy and all, but he can be a little weird. I mean, a few weeks ago, he had a few of the other doctors over for dinner, and all they did was discuss the pros and cons of local anesthesia and how it affected lucidity in patients.

Whatever.

So there Carlisle was, walking up the drive, with Billy Black's dogs barking at him, jumping all over him. I snickered as I heard him yelling at them. "Get outta here you dumb dogs! Beat it pup! Go on, I dare ya!"

I know this probably makes me a horrible person, but this is my form of entertainment. Aside from Scout Harrison: Actor by Day, Confederate Spy by Night comic books, that is.

After Carlisle slammed the screen door behind him, shutting out the growling pack of dogs, I clomped downstairs, purposefully making as much noise as humanly possible. After all, what was life if you couldn't annoy the bajeebers out of everyone?

"Hey Carlisle," I greeted my foster dad, running up to him and giving him a hug. He gave me a big grin.

"Heya Jazzy; how was school?" He ruffled my hair.

I wrinkled my nose. "It stank. School is boring."

He laughed; look, as sappy as this sounds, I love it when Carlisle laughs. It's the coolest sound in the world. "Well, in that case..." he checked his pocket watch, a nice gold one--family heirloom, he said. "I'll go make some hot chocolate, and we can go to the living room for tonight's Abbott and Costello." I silently cheered; even Edward couldn't say no to that.

Carlisle brought in four mugs of hot chocolate a few minutes later, when Edward and I were both curled up on the couch with the weird-smelling afghan that Esme had knit during the summer. Speaking of Esme, she should be home any minute, I thought absently. I liked to keep tabs on my 'family'. It's one of those 'traumatized kids being overcautious,' according to Edward's Great-Aunt Clemence.

As much as I hated snow, cold weather, and Indiana in general, this was one thing I would gladly leave Texas for. Every Thursday night, all four of us would sit in the living room and listen to Abbott and Costello together. No exceptions. This was our family night, and we never skipped it, not once.

I heard the screen door open and Esme's voice called out, "Where are my boys?"

"In here Mom!" called Edward. He'd adapted fast to foster care, and he really did think of Esme and Carlisle as 'Mom and Dad'. I didn't, not really; but then again, Edward is a sentimental kid, so...

Esme bounced into the room, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace; her armchair. She gave a sunny smile to Carlisle as he handed her a mug, and then she turned to smile at us.

"Hi boys," she gushed. "How was your day?"

"Fantastic," Edward said optimistically, the same time I said, "Stupid."

She raised a knowing eyebrow. "You'll have to tell me all about it before bed," she told us both, just as Carlisle turned on the radio.

"...And I say YOU'RE an imbecile."

"And I say YOU'RE an imbecile!"

"Hey, now what's going on here?"

"G'Night Carlisle, 'night Esme."

"Goodnight dear."

"See ya in the morning, sport."

Covering my mouth to hide a yawn, I trudged up the stairs to the room I shared with Edward. I loved listening to Abbot and Costello, but I guess laughing that hard tires you out, 'cause I was bushed.

Edward followed behind me, holding onto the back of my shirt to keep from falling down the stairs. The kid was almost snoring already. Jeepers, and I thought I was tired.

As soon as we reached Edward's bed, he fell onto it with an almighty thud. He was dead to the world before he hit the mattress. Sighing, I bent down and untied his shoes; the kid always wore his shoes around the house. No idea why. I placed them at the end of his bed, just the way he liked them, and pulled the coverlet up over him. Poor kid. Always looks so helpless.

Yawning so hard I thought my jaw would snap, I shuffled over to my own bed, by the window. I took a few moments to change sloppily into my pajamas, then I fell into bed, pulling the covers up halfway before I decided it was too labor-intensive. I snuggled deep into the soft white sheets, not caring how wrinkled they got; that was Esme's job.

Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun. My beautiful Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun...

A/N: Hello hello. Well, today is my one-year anniversary for writing/posting fanfic (yays!) Sooo, any reviews would be GREATLY appreciated. You guys rock!