A/N- Prohibited Activity will not be a carbon copy of the movie, Footloose. It won't be exactly like Twilight either. There will be mullets, puffy bangs, and leg warmers galore. (None of those things will be on Edward, so rest easy). And, FYI, there will be no half human/half vampire babies in this story. Breaking Dawn pretty much has that subject covered in my opinion.

Warning: This story will eventually contain character death (though it probably will not be anyone you care about, to be honest). Also, Bella will be slightly OOC since she won't be nearly as clumsy as the canon version. And if the idea of Edward wearing acid-washed jeans while doing some tubular '80s dance moves disturbs you, this may not be your cup of tea.

Disclaimer: I don't own the awesomeness that is Twilight or its characters. I don't own Footloose either, the movie nor the song. However - back in the day - I did own a large collection of hair scrunchies and rocked a rad side-ponytail.

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Chapter 1- The Sign

Early March 1985

Edward

I ride alone through the dead of night. My black Jaguar flies down the empty highway, its headlights finding nothing but a dense forest of towering trees. This is the time when a majority of humans are tucked into their beds, living out their fears and fantasies within the confines of their dreams. That leaves the roads open for creatures like me to travel in the style we prefer. With the accelerator pressed to the floor and the car's engine roaring, I race towards my new home.

Two members of my family are already there and setting up house in anticipation of my arrival. One of them (the being I look up to as both my father figure and creator) suggested it was time for us to return to the Olympic Peninsula. Our last stay was five decades ago during the Great Depression. We lived in Hoquiam at the time, a town one hundred miles away from our new chosen place of residence. Carlisle did some snooping through the county courthouse recently and believed that enough time had elapsed that we could live in this section of Washington without fear of being remembered by the locals. He discovered the only people who might have recognized us and caused trouble had all died many years ago. No one in our group objected to the idea of moving back since the region is perfect for our needs. For example, the area often features thick cloud cover to block the sunlight - an attractive draw to those of us whose skin is at high risk of sparkling at the most embarrassing of times. The nearby forest is convenient since it boasts adequate wildlife to support a group of our size. And, most importantly to me, the Olympic Peninsula has only a small population of humans to interfere with my sense of peace.

To put it simply, I am a mind-reader. Every thought, daydream, and private conversation within a roughly two mile radius comes to me whether I want them to or not. And due to this unfortunate reality, I prefer living in a small town as opposed to a metropolis. Less people means less chatter to overhear twenty-four hours a day. But being subjected to only a few hundred people's thoughts as opposed to the hundreds of thousands I may receive while in a large city is a burden regardless of where I reside. All I want is quiet. But all I receive is uninterrupted, mental noise. If it were at all possible, I would gladly shut off my telepathic powers for good.

The woman I regard as my mother says that I should think of my ability not as a curse but as a gift. Esme believes the power to read minds was given for a higher purpose other than to just irritate me. Initially, this uplifting sentiment gave me much comfort - until I reminded myself that she is the same person who says I am a good man at heart. This I know to be untrue. I no longer have a heart. I lost it the moment it stopped beating and my body hardened into an immortal. A good man would not have committed the inexcusable acts to which I am guilty.

For four years during my rebellious phase, I abandoned the teachings I learned from Carlisle and chose to deprive a few dozen humans of their lives. I came up with a plausible excuse at the time. They did not deserve to live since they were all criminals of the worst sort. Murderers. Rapists. Child abusers. Each thought they were safe from punishment - untouchable since the authorities either possessed no evidence to convict or had no idea of their involvement in a crime. However, their thoughts betrayed them. None were safe from me. I served them a version of vigilante justice on behalf of their many victims. But I no longer delude myself into believing what I did was justifiable. I have accepted that I am just as guilty as they had once been. Satisfying my lust for blood had been the primary motivation from the get-go. Their punishments were merely a convenient side benefit.

Yet Esme's insurmountable optimism keeps her from dwelling on my past indiscretions. She insists that I have many redeeming qualities which counterbalance the deplorable acts I committed during my youth. I do not agree with her way of thinking. I am a monster. Drinking from only animals' throats in the years since has not wiped my conscience clean. Nor has the passing of time lessened my unholy cravings. The desire for human blood is always there, constantly tempting me to give in and take a life. All that stands in the way of me doing so is my self-control.

I am to begin high school again in two days time. This is another aspect of my never-ending existence which brings me much misery. Perhaps to be forever doomed to repeat high school is a fitting means of punishment for my many wrongdoings. To be frank, I would much rather burn for eternity than endure yet another lesson on how to factor a monomial in Algebra. I already possess several doctorates in various fields of study. There will be nothing new for me to learn within a high school's walls. And I'm sure additional mental torture will come via the vacuous brains of a vast majority of the students. Most teenagers think of nothing but clothes, their current infatuations, and sex. No matter the school or decade I may find myself, that is the way it has always been. It's rare for anything of value to cross their minds or lips. How I haven't lost my sanity completely yet, I will never know.

Posing as a high schooler for the dozenth time may not be something that I look forward to experiencing again, but it is my duty as a member of the Cullen family to help out in any way I can. The younger the age we play, the longer we can stay in one location without our eternal youth becoming glaringly apparent. The exception to this is Carlisle. He will be working at the local hospital and will pose as a twenty-nine year old man even though he doesn't appear much older than twenty-three. We have found that if he claims he is anything below that age, most patients will feel he is "too young to be a doctor". It's always amusing to hear them think in that way. Carlisle has been around for almost 340 years and is probably the world's most competent physician. Any hospital in the world would be lucky to have him on its staff.

Esme decided that she wants to take a break from interior design and would like to play the role of housewife again. It was the early '60s when she last portrayed a domestic goddess and stay-at-home mom. Her duties will include conducting weekly trips to the supermarket to shop for food we won't eat and making polite small talk with the humans while doing so. She has even hinted that she may join the PTA and the local gardening club to enhance the illusion. Esme always finds creative ways to entertain herself.

My new role isn't nearly as important as Carlisle's, nor is it even as amusing as Esme's. I will portray the poor boy the Cullens adopted after his birth parents died in a horrific house fire approximately five years ago. Hopefully, this fabricated tragedy will have already made the rounds among the gossips in town before I even show up to school Monday morning. I have found that traumatic stories of this nature helps explain why the new student rarely speaks and chooses to keep to himself. Combine this tall tale with my standoffish behavior (plus a well-placed glare here or there), and most children will be too intimidated to approach. This is a good thing, too. Although over fifty years has passed since I last partook of human blood, I remain incredibly dangerous. The more distance they keep from me and my teeth, the safer they will be.

Monday marks the first time in quite a few decades that I will be attending school alone. For various reasons, all four of my siblings chose to delay their move to the Olympic Peninsula for a bit longer. Emmett and Rosalie are off playing house in a French chateau for a year. They claimed they wanted an in-depth look at life on the European continent. But Emmett's inner fantasies let it slip that they merely wanted the privacy to romp about naked in their own house for a while without fear of getting caught making love in any communal areas. I, for one, wholeheartedly supported their plan. Being around them these last six months has been almost as unbearable as their honeymoon period. They could barely keep their hands to themselves while in the presence of others. If they can get some of that sexual desire out of their systems, perhaps they will be easier to live with once they return to us next year.

My other siblings, Alice and Jasper, decided to go on a trip around the world for the next four months. Their first stop: a two week visit with some close friends in the wilds of Alaska. They attempted to coax me to tag along but I turned them down. The last time I traveled there, one of our female friends somehow mistook my common courtesy as an act of flirtation. She and I had been hunting in the forests near Mount Foraker when we came upon a large bear. It smelled delicious. But Tanya had not hunted as recently as I had, so I insisted she take the beast as her meal. Without forming a coherent thought in her head which could have given me prior warning, she flung herself at me and chose to feast upon my mouth instead of the bear. It felt as though one of my sisters were kissing me. I pulled away as soon as possible, politely turned her down, and fled the area before anything else could go wrong. Tanya has since called to apologize for her mistaken assumption. I accepted it without question and forgave her. In the thousand years since she was created, she has yet to find someone who means more to her than just a temporary partner for her bed. Prolonged loneliness will sometimes affect your judgement, I suppose. However, I still do not plan on returning to Alaska anytime soon. Not enough time has passed for me to feel comfortable around her. I'll go back once the dust has settled a bit more. Perhaps twenty years will be enough.

I think I understand her point of view to a certain extent. As a single man who has cohabitated with three mated couples for several decades, I'm no stranger to loneliness. To hear the thoughts of these blissful lovers and witness their shared glances of affection nearly every day is not easy. That's because - thanks to my telepathic ability - I understand exactly what I'm missing out on. But long ago I accepted that this is how my life was meant to be. Certainly there are worse things in this world than not having a mate - such as cars that don't go above 100 mph and those hideous parachute pants everyone seems to want to wear these days. At least I have my family to keep me company. I will be forever grateful for that bit of good fortune.

Every decade or so, Tanya makes it clear that she would like to add me to her long list of lovers. I always decline. Some in my family do not understand how I can continuously turn down her advances. Emmett has argued that perhaps something would develop over time if I would only give her a chance. While I believe her to be a charming and beautiful woman, I already know that she is a friend and will never be anything more. I possess no strong feelings towards her, nothing like the devotion Carlisle and Esme have for one another. Nor do I feel the stirrings of puppy-love, the fleeting type of romance which you will find in any high school hallway. To be perfectly honest, my mind reading further exposes our incompatibility. Her thoughts are predictable and often boring - usually restricted to daydreaming of her sensual desires, her past romantic conquests, and very little else. I refuse to start anything with her when I already know it would end badly. She deserves that from me at the very least.

The thick tangle of forest gradually thins as I travel down the Olympic highway. Houses begin to appear with more regularity, making it clear that I am moving closer to civilization. It's 3:07 in the morning when my Jaguar's high beams hit a road sign up ahead, giving me something to concentrate on other than my inner ponderings. It's plain and wooden, containing three simple words.

Welcome to Forks.

I slow my speed down to 80 mph in order to study the area more thoroughly. The town has grown a lot since I last saw it in 1936, yet it also appears to have maintained it's unique identity. The smell of wood shavings emanates from a couple of nearby sawmills, the town's primary source of employment for the past century. The wooden planks produced there were used to construct most of the town's buildings, giving them a folksy uniformity. A few small businesses are scattered along the highway, all of which are closed for the night. I see no evidence of strip malls or national fast food chains. Litter and graffiti are nonexistent. All I see are cleanly swept sidewalks and quaint Mom and Pop style establishments. Forks, Washington appears to be one of the last places in America untouched by urban decay and small town dry rot.

A second road sign soon appears, which I give only a cursory glance before darting my attention back towards the horizon. But the sign's unexpected message has me doing a double-take. I stare at it again in disbelief.

Warning to persons 21 years of age and under: Playing music or possessing any of its paraphernalia within the city of Forks is a violation of the law.

My eyebrows crash together as the car races past the sign. A town that has banned music? Is this a joke? In all my years on this earth, I have never come across anything so ridiculous as this so-called "law" - and that includes the misguided amendment that sparked the Prohibition era. How could this godforsaken place have the audacity to deprive music from any of its citizens lives? Or mine for that matter, a man unfortunate enough to have been frozen at the age of seventeen for all of eternity. The only pastime which brings me pleasure anymore is music.

My fingers immediately pop open the glove compartment and I shuffle through its contents. Without glancing away from the road, I pick something at random in less time than it takes a human to bat an eye. I shove a cassette into the tape deck, hit the play button, and crank up the volume to its maximum. An electric guitar riff blares from the car's speakers. Next comes a pounding of drums which serves to intensify the song's jarring beat. Upon recognizing the tune, a faint smile tugs at one corner of my mouth - the first sign of genuine amusement I've had in weeks.

On the day I was born

The nurses all gathered 'round

And they gazed in wide wonder

At the joy they had found

The head nurse spoke up

Said leave this one alone

She could tell right away

That I was bad to the bone

Hmm. Bad To The Bone. I suppose it's a fitting song choice under the circumstances. Vampires aren't known for abiding by the absurd laws of humans.

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A/N-

Bad To The Bone by George Thorogood - It's the ultimate bad-ass theme song.

Next Chapter - An intro from Bella's viewpoint. Yes, this story will feature BOTH of their POVs (yay?).

Dear reader: If this intro chapter piqued your interest, please review and tell me you want more. It will inspire me tremendously. If you didn't enjoy it and almost fell asleep while reading it, let me know so I can destroy the rest of the story's outline and then cry at how I have failed as a fanfic writer. Either option you choose to go with, I would appreciate it.

Oh. And thanks for reading! :-)