Thanks to Tige for the two reviews. And to Sims addict, who favorited this story. I appreciate reviews, though. Even if just to say 'cool' or 'I hate this'. I don't actually know who's reading this until they review. So please do so.

And for anyone who's really wanting the Cullens to show up, wait another couple chapters. This story is a bit on the long side, so it takes until the fifth chapter to get to them.

These Are The Rules

It only took Maureen four hours to set up her room to her liking. Putting the loom back together was the biggest chore. But Maureen had done it before, so it wasn't too hard.

She dragged the steamer trunks down to the basement (Jessica showed her where the storage space was) and stuffed the duffle bag onto a high shelf on her closet. She borrowed a laundry basket to put her wrinkled clothes in. She'd wash them first thing tomorrow morning.

The sewing machine went on the desk. It was a tight fit next to her laptop, but since both items were portable Maureen didn't think it was a big issue. Her books went on top of the dresser, and the rest of her tools went into various desk drawers—the smallest reserved for things like pencils and staplers, things she'd need for school.

Maureen knew she was lucky to be starting at the beginning of the school year, but the idea of school still made her wince. That was the awful dichotomy, wasn't it? Private or public, schools were institutions, effectively cultural prisons. But they were necessary, and not just for education. Never mind that without a high school diploma one's job opportunities were next to nothing…socially, a person who didn't experience the dynamics of school would fail to relate as much to their peers.

Damned if you go, damned if you don't. Maureen thought bitterly. But never mind. This place was nudging her again, trying to tell her something…here, aside from parental disapproval there were no real consequences for missing school. You could skip nearly every day, and be no more the ignorant for it.

I'll have to remember that. Maureen mused. I could get an awful lot of knitting done, if I don't have to pay attention to the teachers.

She was sketching out a design for her bed's first quilt when her Aunt Joan came home. Maureen came down the stairs and greeted her warmly. Joan was nice enough…a little too focused on material possessions, if her pantsuit and gold jewelry were any indication. But she meant well. Just as with Jessica, though, there was the awkward undercurrent.

Maureen had long ago given up hoping that people would stop treating each other's flaws and problems like the pink elephant in the room. After all, she judged people left and right herself. That wasn't much different.

Maureen helped set the table for dinner, and her Uncle Thomas was home in another half-hour. He'd brought 'celebratory pizza' and Joan had made a salad, insisting that vegetables were important. Maureen liked what she saw—the Stanleys made a nice family, if not a large one. Three brown heads in various shades, all concerned with the details of everyday life, wishing the world well.

The conversation was pleasant—the adults asked after their relatives in Sacramento, and Maureen wanted to know everything about Forks…the better to get around when she and Jessica started school next week. Aunt Joan promised to give her a tour on Saturday, although she warned there wasn't too much to see. Maureen also asked about the woods, and her Uncle described a few of the more popular hiking trails. Maureen didn't press him further—she doubted he knew anything about what she wanted to find, and she was sure he wouldn't take kindly to the knowledge that his niece planned to go walking off-trail.

"Your father mentioned you still make clothes and quilts and things—there's a crafts store in Port Angeles." Her Aunt said. "It's small, but I hear it's a great little shop."

"It should be sufficient." Maureen smiled. "Most of what I need I can order online anyway."

"If you take part in the chores, allowance is five dollars a week." Her Uncle said bluntly, his tone warning her that his wallet was not an open book to fuel her hobbies.

"Sure!" Maureen said, flashing him a cheesy grin to hide her irritation. "I've got plenty of money saved up in an account, anyway."

"You've got a bank account?" Jessica blurted, eyes wide.

"I made a little money at craft fairs, selling my stuff." Maureen smiled. "It helped to fund more projects, so I figured it might as well earn some interest."

After dinner, Aunt Joan insisted she could take care of the dishes, and sent Jessica to take out the trash. Maureen was heading back upstairs, when her Uncle caught her arm.

"I'd like to talk you for a minute, Maureen." The words were polite, but his tone brooked no argument.

"Of course." They walked into the living room, but her Uncle made no move to sit down—or to let go of her arm. Uncle Thomas fixed her with a serious expression.

"I care about Howard—and you—very much." He began. "So I'm perfectly willing to take you into my home. Your father's helping to support you, and in the end, we're family. What's mine is yours."

Maureen could hear the 'but' coming a mile away.

"But I need you to understand, Maureen, that my house is not a playground. And neither is this town. I refuse to coddle or spoil you, and I will not stand for any petulant tantrums. You had some trouble with authority in your old school—I understand. California is a soft, stupid state, with too many liberals and smart-asses making excuses for wild children. I know Howie indulged you—even when you started behaving like your mother."

Maureen felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, as a wave of anger washed over her. She bit her tongue to keep it in check. Her Uncle continued.

"Now, Howard swears for all the trouble you've caused, you never had a substance problem. And looking at you now, I believe him. But your disrespect and willfulness ends here. We give Jessica a fairly wide leash, and I'm prepared to give you the same—but you cannot break any of our rules. You come home by curfew, you get your homework done on time, and you do what we tell you."

"Obviously the high school will know that you were expelled, and the reasons for it. And I'm going to inform the Chief of Police here in town. He's a good man, and he deserves to know. He won't persecute you without reason. Otherwise, I have no intention of advertising your delinquency—provided your behavior shows your bad days are over. And I will not tolerate it if they aren't. If you so much as mouth off to a teacher here, or even to your Aunt, I will send you back to your father so fast you'll get whiplash. Do you understand?"

Maureen nodded.

"I understand, Uncle Thomas." She said. "You don't have to worry. I intend to be on my best behavior."

Her Uncle nodded—he looked a little worn out from his monologue.

"Good." He said. "I'm glad we had this talk."

He let go of her arm, and walked back into the kitchen.

Maureen stood still for a moment, then headed towards the stairs. She walked up them slowly, turning the 'conversation' over in her head.

It wasn't a big deal. It was just annoying, more than anything. It frustrated Maureen when people talked down to her based on the falsehoods she purposely spread as truth. But she had no one to blame but herself…she'd pulled this story together, so she had to stand by it.

She didn't want her Uncle to know the truth. So she'd follow the rules when it suited her, and bend them to do what she wanted to do. She had no doubt she'd be able to pull the wool over her family's eyes. It was easy.

More like sociopathic. Maureen shook the thought off. Madness was part and parcel of what she was, and she'd come here so she wouldn't have to question it.

Instead of turning towards her room, Maureen impulsively walked to the left, and slipped into the second floor bathroom. She flicked the light on, then shut the door and locked it.

It was a big bathroom, with checkered tiles in white and toothpaste green. The mirror was big as well, taking up a third of the wall.

She hadn't looked at her reflection since she'd gotten here. Maureen took a step forward, turned and faced the mirror.

She blinked. "I'm paler."

And that was really the only difference. Not that Maureen had expected much change—Forks was certainly similar to the last place she'd been, not just because part of her family lived here.

But Maureen observed that her skin was a shade or two paler than it had been before—as if her tan had up and walked off. And her body was a bit thinner. There was less fat on her belly, her thighs. And her cheekbones stood out more.

I guess this place likes the consumption look. Maureen thought, smiling a little at the notion. She flipped the light switch down, and left the bathroom.

Stepping into her room, she turned the light on and let herself collapse on the squeaky bed.

"The Spinner in Forks." She said out loud. "What would they say if they saw me here? Would they call me a coward, or say I was clever?"

"Regardless…this is the last week of August, in a year that lacks significance. And I am here, in Forks Washington, as far away from true pain and suffering as the Earth is from the planet Mars. And this is where I will stay. Cross me."

Maureen raised her hand and drew two diagonal lines—an X—across the air over her heart. Then she let her hand fall back on her stomach.

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