Well, here's my new chapter. Finally. Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

This chapter is dedicated to Shamrock the wonder muse, who I can always count on to help me smooth the story out and make it take off.

While this chapter may seem pointless, it establishes a major part and gives a little insight on how I'm portraying Portman. Onwards!

Nothing Loved

Chapter 2

 "Your mom called." Fulton hands me a piece of paper as I walk into out room. There's a number I've never seen before on it. 213 area code? What's mom doing in L.A.?

I pick up the phone and dial, expecting a hotel receptionist to pick up the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hi, could I have room number..." I trail off, realizing two things. One, there was no room number on the note, and two, whoever is on the other end sounds awfully familiar. "Mom?"

"Hey hon!" She has that high-pitched note in her voice that tells me she's nervous. Shit. Oh well, no sense in beating around the bush.

"So what's with the L.A. area code, mom?"

"Well Dean, I… well, I moved. I live in L.A. now. So I guess technically we moved, even though you weren't here." My first thought is Great. She's babbling. And then what she'd actually said registers.

"MOVED??" The word comes out as a roar an Fulton raises an eyebrow at me. I lower my voice slightly. "Mom, why the hell did you move? And why goddamn California?"

" Honey, please watch your language. I moved because we needed a cheaper house. Also, I've wanted to move to L.A. for a while now. This was the perfect opportunity." Her voice is wavering slightly. Shit. Now all I need is for her to start crying.

"Mom, look. We need to talk about this later. I am amazingly pissed off that you didn't consult, or even see fit to tell me that all my possessions have been relocated to a city thousands of miles away. But right now, I have hockey practice." I slam down the receiver, stare at it for several seconds and then pick up the whole phone, yanking the cord out from the wall. Fulton jumps up to stop me but I move too fast, throwing the phone against the wall with as much force as I can muster and taking a minute amount of satisfaction in the plastic shards that are shot in all directions. Fulton looks helplessly at our third formerly working telephone.

"Portman, hockey practice was cancelled, remember?" He sounds cautious. Well, good. It would be a lot harder to throw him against the wall, but in my current mood, I could probably catch his best slap shot with my teeth and live to tell about it.

"Yeah, I know. Look, I'm going to go skate. I'll be at Goldie's room by six." Grabbing my ice skates and stick I leave, slamming the door behind me hard enough to crack the frame again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Skating has always been calming to me. Hockey has too, but in a different way. See, hockey let's me take my anger out on the puck and the other team, unless of course I get thrown out, while skating just pushes my problems back and lets me view them logically. However, since I don't feel like hashing over my mom's decision, I turn my thoughts to my date tomorrow night.

Jessica Bates. Not a bad name, no unusual spellings. She's a typical cheerleader: blonde hair, blue eyes and wide smile. Slender with nicely toned muscles, sunny personality. And most definitely not my type, if I even have a type.

See, I have no idea what my 'type' is. All I know is that it's not Jessica Bates. And since I knew that before I even talked to her, why'd I bother to ask her out? Because if I listen to the rumors, all I want is a nice piece of ass.

From what I've heard, Dean Portman is the ultimate male chauvinist pig. So of course he'd go for ditzy cheerleaders. God forbid I might be able to hold an intelligent conversation, or even think intelligently. Half the things I've apparently done, I must've done sleepwalking since I sure as hell don't remember any of them.

I indulge in one self-pitying sigh and glance at my watch. 5:30. Might as well go take a shower.

 ~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

That's it for now. I know it's short again, I know. I just couldn't go into the next part and make it sound right still. Oh, one more thing. I have nothing against cheerleaders, unless they're ditzy and slutty, which all cheerleaders in this story are going to be. So don't accuse me of stereotyping.