Chapter Seven up, as promised. Thank a lot to whats. the. time. mr. wolf, for reviewing again. I'm glad you're enjoying my take on Edward. I don't like him very much either, and I'm using this story to explain exactly why I don't think he's boyfriend-or friend-material.

This is more of a low-key summary chapter, but it sets up for the escalation in chapter eight. Read & Review.

Progression

Maureen began to get into the swing of school. She found that in over half of her classes, it was easy to knit or sew something small without the teacher being any the wiser. Amusingly enough, not paying attention in certain classes had no bearing on her grade point average. She still got low A's in the subjects she was good at, and low B's in the subjects she was poor at. And she still exceeded her Uncle and Aunt's expectations.

"We're proud of you for working so hard." Aunt Joan had said, the last time she requested to see the girls' most recently graded assignments.

"It's because I get C's every now and again." Jessica had complained later. "They think a B- is the greatest thing ever, in comparison."

"My Dad thinks C's are unacceptable." Maureen commented.

"Yeah, well my Dad's not far off from that." Jess grumbled. "Could you bring home a C one day, though? It'll make me look better."

"You want me to throw an assignment so your parents won't think you're an underachiever?"

"I didn't say to throw an assignment, just don't hide a C if you get one!" Jessica said. "And you're more of an underachiever than me. At least I try—"

"Sometimes."

"—sometimes, yeah, but you coast all the time. You said so yourself."

"Do what you like, like what you do." Maureen said. "I like not being a huge failure in school, but I also like not busting my ass for a row of A's typed on a little square of paper."

Maureen knew her Aunt and Uncle were pleased with more than just Maureen's decent grades. It had become obvious that they'd viewed Maureen as a ticking clock—a troublemaker who could break a storefront window or light a trashcan on fire at any second. They were surprised to find that Maureen was on her best behavior…more or less. It wouldn't do for them to think that she was an angel—they might get suspicious as to why she'd suddenly rebelled at her old school. So Maureen kept herself distant, begging off family outings and retreating into her room whenever she could. But that was the extent of her antisocial behavior. She did her homework, finished her chores and didn't get into any fights, especially with Jess.

The heated conversation with Jess that first day of school had in fact been the closest they'd come to arguing. For the most part, they got along well. Jess got on Maureen's nerves now and again, but Maureen remembered that nothing had to get to her, and she let it slide. If Maureen got on Jess' nerves, Maureen knew soon enough. Then, it was easy to apologize and make amends, or to explain that she wasn't going to bend on a certain point. Their conflicts were easily resolved, and they even hung out together on boring weekend nights, bantering with each other.

"I think Frank Harris is the cutest." Jessica sighed. She was lying across her bed, while Maureen was curled up in Jessica's computer chair, crocheting the sleeve of a sweater.

"You really want to date a senior?" Maureen asked. "I know he's not eighteen yet, but at our age two years is a bigger difference."

"I'd date him if I could!" Jess said. "But he's not going to notice me. It's too bad he's graduating, I hate it when the cute ones leave."

"Oh, I know. Only ugly people should graduate, the pretty ones should be forced to stay for window decoration."

Jess stuck her tongue out. "You're being silly again." She propped herself up on her elbows. "Who do you want to date, Maureen?"

"No one."

Jess smiled slyly. "Ahhh, that's not true! C'mon, who do you think is cute?"

"Well, Mike Newton's got a sweet face, despite his excessive use of hair gel." Maureen said. "And Ben Cheney is pleasantly lean—I imagine he's got a high metabolism."

"Ah hah! I knew there were guys you wanted to date!" Jess declared.

"You asked me who was cute, Jessie." Maureen said, her crochet hook weaving through the sleeve in her hands. "Thinking a guy is handsome and wanting to date him are two different things."

"So you're too good for them?" Jess queried.

"I hate when people say that." Maureen grumbled. "Just because I don't want to go out doesn't mean I think I'm better than everyone. I just don't feel like dating. There are other things—"

"—you'd rather be doing." Jess finished. "That's all you ever do, Maureen! You should make friends and hang out with people, not stay at home spinning wool, and knitting sweaters, and, and weaving fabric from scratch on that noisy machine—"

"My loom is not that loud." Maureen said. "And I told you before, I'm not going to stop weaving if I'm on a roll, even if it is three in the morning."

"I can hear it clacking through the wall." Jess complained. "If I'm awake, it's distracting."

"You're only awake at that hour if you're busy finishing an essay that's due the next day." Maureen said. "The walls aren't made of cardboard, you can barely hear it. Deal."

They collaborated in the classes they had together, and generally avoided each other at lunch. But Maureen got the impression that Jess missed her then. Maureen felt a little lonely herself sometimes. She'd chosen solitude, but she still craved the company of people on occasion. So she took to sitting with Jess' group every once in a while—usually on the days when Lauren wasn't around for one reason or another. The blonde girl seemed to view Maureen as a pest more than a threat, though. After a week and a half of Maureen expressing her disinterest in close friendships and various school activities, the constant inquisitiveness of her peers had died down. Maureen was part of the crowd now, much to her relief. People didn't even comment or stare at her clothes any more.

They stared at Rosalie and Edward and their gang, though. All the time. Like they couldn't look away. Maureen had empathized at first. Poor bastards, getting eyeballed like they were the Barnum & Bailey freak show. She'd thought. Until she saw that the way Edward and Rosalie got people to leave them alone was to insult them. People stared, but they didn't go near the group of albinos because said albinos were nasty.

Like the time it had been raining in sheets, and the lunchroom was packed. Failing to find a place to sit, Maureen had headed to their table.

"I'm sorry, but there's pretty much nowhere else to si—" Maureen's voice died in her throat as all five stood up and left the room as one. They didn't even speak to her—like she was just an object to be avoided. Maureen had tried to get another apology from Rosalie, as she seemed a little less dickish then Edward. But Rosalie clearly thought that her first apology was enough to cover all the insults ever after. When Maureen waved and tried to catch up with her in the hallway, Rosalie just walked faster. She left Maureen in the dust, without even looking at her.

"You and your lot have an attitude." Maureen declared to Edward the next day in English class. "And I do mean offense on that one, because clearly, so do you!"

Edward had turned toward her gracefully, mouth set in a contemptible smirk.

"I want you to leave us alone." He said. "It's not a misunderstanding anymore. You're purposely bothering us."

"How am I bothering you?" Maureen threw up her hands. "By not staying twenty feet away at all times? Am I, is the whole school, really that repulsive? What's wrong with your standards that you think something's wrong with me?"

"It's not my standards." Edward said. His voice was controlled, but tense. "It's just you. You're not a nice person, Maureen Stanley."

"What? Why?"

"You pass judgment on everyone around you."

Maureen scoffed. "I think that's called 'having an opinion'. Doesn't everyone do that? Don't you?"

"You're especially bad." Edward said. He looked uncomfortable as well as angry. "Everyone judges everyone, yes. But they also have people they trust, or love. You don't have that. Nothing and no one in this town is pure to you. You pick everything apart. The way you think about people—"

"And how would you know what I think?" Maureen snapped.

That had shut Edward up. He'd looked mortified, almost frightened. Then, shooting her a parting glare, he turned back to face the teacher.

Maureen tried to wash her hands of the whole thing. The whole student body seemed to more or less resent Edward and his posse, so having the five of them hate her didn't make Maureen a pariah. It bothered her, though, the way that Edward and Rosalie behaved. And it bothered her that it bothered her. It was like they were harder to disregard…as if the five of them were more important than everyone else. Forks had given her an enthusiastic, positive nudge when she'd determined that.

Well, they're going to have to get used to being ignored. Maureen thought. I don't intend to waste a minute more of my time on them.

Maureen kept to herself, making things. What others called a hobby, Maureen considered a passion—more than that, it was a part of what she was. She could no more cease to spin or felt or weave than she could cease to eat. She ordered most of her supplies on the internet, as the shop in Port Angeles was geared specifically towards scrap bookers and quilters, as opposed to people who spun their own thread.

Sometimes Maureen was inspired to make a scarf, or a coat, and would seek out the supplies to do so. Other times she would see something online that would inspire her—like the raw cultivated silk she'd bought, and had painstakingly dyed in a pot on the stove. It had turned a marvelous violet color, a fairly dark hue that turned brighter when it caught the light. She'd managed to weave almost a yard of whole cloth from it, and had put it aside—it was meant for something special, and Maureen was patient.

Plenty of her projects became gifts. As the days got colder and the wind chill became unpleasant, the Stanley family found themselves outfitted in new hats, scarves and gloves. The rest of Maureen' projects were wrapped in tissue paper and kept safely in her bottom dresser drawer. Maureen knew they'd need to be sold, whether online or at a craft fair. Buying natural fibers in bulk cost money, and Maureen's bank account wasn't infinite. But right now, it wasn't a huge worry. Maureen worried very little these days—and a numb, pleasant peace took its place. Her life was a little too boisterous to be called 'heavenly'. But routine and apathy made everything much like a pleasant dream.

It was on the last day of September that Maureen was rudely woken.

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