A/N: Oh my gosh, I am so sorry for taking so long. It's been quite a while since my last update. I can explain, I promise.

First, I am quite busy during the week, I have school, then I skate after school three times a week.

Second, remember that sister I mentioned? Well, she gets home before me, gets on the computer, then when I get home she takes it upstairs into her room and I don't see it again until really late.

But now I have a little extra time. So I am choosing to spend it on writing this, just for you guys!

Disclaimer: Everything Twilight is Stephenie Meyer's, everything Trading Spouses is the Trading Spouses people's.

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Chapter Five: Day Two: The Walling's Home

Esme had spent the entire night thinking of ways she could redecorate the house without looking like a lunatic. She had several blue prints sprawled across the floor, a few she had made that night, the others were current projects that she had fallen behind on. Overall, it was a very productive night. But because of the very quick thinking, roomy brain she had, she couldn't help but miss her family.

It was around dawn that she decided it would be acceptable for her to emerge from the room. They didn't know anything about her, maybe she was one of those extremely early risers, those people who are efficient at all hours of the day and usually have several chores done before nine o'clock.

She slowly opened the door, not wanting to wake anyone up, and stepped out into the small, quiet hallway. The walls were painted a slightly off white, there was a very cluttered, honey brown table pushed against it with papers and books over flowing off the top. A thick, retro carpet covered the floors. The long fibers seemed to grab and hold onto dirt, making the carpet seem very neglected. It was also extremely out of date.

She made her way to the small, white kitchen. She hadn't cooked much before Bella showed up, but those few years human Bella was a part of the family she had gotten quite good at it. She decided to surprise the family with a homemade breakfast, that way she could just claim she ate before they woke up.

She was just adding a few vegetables to the omelet she had cooking when someone spoke.

"Oh . . . Good morning, Esme." Jim stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do. He was an early riser, he liked to be up early doing chores that wouldn't get done during the day. It made him feel like he accomplished something, and on days when there were no early morning chores to be done, he got to do a little work on his planes. Building planes was something he had to do when no one else was awake or around. He hated it when he was in the middle of putting on the second aileron and the kids started bickering, or Linda needed him to rake the leaves. But now Esme was here. He didn't think she was the type of woman who woke up as early has he did, but it would seem as though he was very mistaken. Here she was, cooking breakfast. Who knows how long she had been up for.

Esme turned to smile at Jim.

"Hello, Jim. Why are you up so early?" It was no later that six.

"I always wake up this early. I like to be up early. I do chores and build planes and stuff."

Esme nodded, so Jim was one of those people.

"Did you sleep well?" Jim asked.

"Yes, I did. I had a lovely night."

Jim just kept standing there. Esme wondered why. He looked very uncomfortable. Like he wanted to be somewhere else, but was staying to be polite. She decided to put him out of his misery.

"Well, don't let me keep you from your planes."

"Do you maybe want to see them?" Jim asked. He really didn't think she would, why would she ever want to see his collection of planes?

"Oh, I'd love to!"

She quickly washed her hands, dried them on a dishtowel and followed Jim to one of the biggest rooms in the house; the model room.

It was perfectly square with a large window on the wall facing the outside. The walls were painted the same off white as the halls, the carpet was the same as well. There was a large, wooden table placed precisely in the middle of the room, on it were boxes and papers and half built planes and pieces of planes and tools and strings. There were tons of planes hanging from the ceiling and mounted on the walls, ranging in colours and sizes and eras.

"Wow, this is incredible. There's so much detail!"

Esme was in awe. She had never seen so many planes in one place. They were every where, each one with it's own charm. There were commercial planes, jets, army planes and old fashioned propelled ones. The detail on them was astonishing, they looked exactly like the real ones.

"Do you actually paint these?" She asked.

"Uh, yes. It takes a lot of time."

"I would think so!"

Jim was pleased. No one had ever appreciated his planes the way Esme was. Linda hated them, well hate was too strong, she disliked them. Linda thought they were a waste of time, time Jim could be spending doing more useful things. Sandra and Andy were indifferent. They didn't care what their father did with his time, as long as he wasn't bothering them. He didn't have many friends either, he was too shy, and the few he did have never showed any interest in anything other that drinking beer and watching sports (they were all warehouse workers). So, to take advantage of the first real interest he ever saw on his planes, he launched into a little lesson about each one, and Esme patiently listened, interested in getting to know more about Jim.

"It felt great to know someone actually appreciates my planes!" Jim confessed. "I work really hard on them and I don't think anybody in this house really gets how much they mean to me, It was great having someone here who was interested and wanted to hear about them. I'm really glad Esme is here."

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It was eleven o'clock when Andy and Sandra came out of their rooms, ready for the day. Esme's breakfast had long since gone cold and was packed safely in a tupperware container nestled in the fridge. Jim was angry the kids were too lazy to get out of bed earlier and try the breakfast she had made for them.

"Good afternoon, dears." Esme greeted. She wanted to work on getting to know the children better today.

"Hello, Esme." Sandra replied.

Andy just grunted in response.

"Would you like some lunch?" Esme asked, "I can make you whatever you'd like."

"Oh, that's okay, you don't have to do that, Esme." Sandra replied. She was a little surprised. Her mother would never offer that kind of service.

"It's no trouble at all. I don't cook much at home, if you want anything, just let me know."

Of course, Sandra thought looking Esme up and down. The clothes she was wearing were obviously very expensive. They looked like clothes you would find in the Upper East side or in Paris. They weren't fancy, they were suitable for everyday life, but you could tell by looking at the fabric and the quality that the turquoise, silk top she wore cost at least two hundred and fifty bucks. She probably didn't cook at home because her family was too good for homemade food. Esme really did not fit in a neighbourhood like this one.

The two kids sprawled across the old couch and Andy started flipping through the channels on the T.V., it wasn't long before the bickering started.

"Andy! I really wanted to watch that! Put it back on." Sandra whined.

There was no response from Andy. He just kept flipping mindlessly through the channels with a sly smile on his face. He was enjoying it.

"Andy!" Sandra repeated, most obviously annoyed. She was quite fed up with the way he acted when there was nothing else to do. He spent his time tormenting her in small ways, moving or hiding her things or doing the channel flipping thing he was doing now.

"What?" Andy asked, much too innocent.

"I wanted to watch that."

"Watch what?" He asked again. Playing dumb was the fastest way to annoy the crap out of Sandra. She hated it when people acted like they didn't know anything when they obviously did. Why did people do that?

Sandra was really frustrated with him now, he was being an idiot and the channels were still racing. She threw a pillow at his head.

Now it was Andy's turn to be angry. His brown hair now resembled some sort of electrocuted look and he had a small throbbing in his head. He hated it when she started to throw things, he could never really fight back, she was a girl, even though she was his sister, and it was against his morals to hurt a girl. It was rather sad. So he did the only thing he could in a situation like this; he kept flipping. He messed with her on a level that was deeper than a physical one.

"I've noticed that Andy and Sandra really don't get along. It's sad to see such beautiful kids argue like that! I'd really like to see them get along a little more, like when they're just sitting around watching T.V.." Esme confided to the camera, "I think I should help them appreciate each other more, I want to help them get along."

Esme walked over to the small living room and sat on the armrest of the battered old couch.

"Why don't we just find something you both like? That way you won't fight."

"Um, yeah, okay. What do you want to watch, Andy?" Sandra asked, trying to be pleasant for Esme's sake.

"Nothing. I'm leaving."

He stood up and stalked to the door before putting on a pair of old, ratty skateboard shoes and walked out the door.

"Needs a new attitude as well as a new haircut." Emse mumbled.

There was a beat of silence before Sandra broke into fits of laughter. Esme smiled, she was finally connecting to Sandra on one level.

Esme and Sandra spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything. Sandra's school and friends and classes, and a little about Andy.

Esme was quite glad that Sandra opened up to her, they got just a little bit closer during those few short hours.

Next, was Andy.

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A/N: I tried to make this one longer. It kind of is, I think.

Anyways, again, sorry for the long wait. I really didn't do it on purpose. Things just come up, and it doesn't help that I rarely see the computer.

So here is chapter five. I hope you enjoyed the further look into the complex inner workings of the Walling family. I really have to figure them out more . . . I feel like there's something Andy isn't telling me . . . I don't really know what he does in his spare time or anything. But I do know what is going to happen to him sometime during the week (I'll give you a hint: Alice would be jealous).

Well, drop me a line by clicking that lovely green "Review This Story" button, they mean quite a bit to me.

Until next time,

tanis ann