This is a new story I thought of- tell me if you think i should continue or axe it (p.s. i only added this thing at the top because the doc was 666 words and, well i just can't have that - especially on Good Friday)

It's not very long, but that's just cause its the beginning, ya dig?


Player & Coach 1

"I heard the new assistant coach is sooo hot"

"I heard he started for his college team freshman year because he slept with the coach's daughter"

"I heard he was going pro, but he went to Africa to feed the needy or something instead"

"Awwww" The girls in the locker room cooed as they continued to gush about their mysterious new assistant coach that was just hired. Miley just rolled her eyes as she prepared for practice off to the side of the rest of the girls. It's not that she doesn't like any of the girls – her best friend is the one that suggested that he slept with the coach's daughter. It's not that Miley hated gossip either – everyone knew that Miley Stewart is the gossip queen. No, Miley just preferred her own pre-practice/game warm-up that she went through every day; she liked to do this in the quiet. And besides, Miley thought, the new coach is definitely some old fat ugly guy that likes to creep on younger girls. Clearly none of those things the girls said about him are true idiots.

Miley finished tying her shoe and grabbed her bag, looking up at the girls in the process. Half of them weren't even close to being ready for practice in- Miley looked at her watch- 30 minutes. She shook her head and turned around, starting her walk to the soccer field. Miley stepped outside and immediately regretted not bringing her sunglasses; the sun's intensity was causing her to squint her eyes. Miley's cheeks became flushed, however, once a breeze caused the hairs on her arms and legs to stand up. She put down her bag, retrieving her soccer zip-up from last season, sliding it on then zipping it up in an attempt to warm herself up. Picking up her bag, Miley walked over to the field and got out her soccer ball, laying it on the ground in front of her. She bit down on the neck of her zip-up as she plugged her iPod into her ears and began to jog the perimeter of the soccer field.

When Miley was done with her warm-ups, she began to air dribble, timing the height of the ball so that her kicks would coincide with the beat of the music she was listening to. Miley's warm-ups were the type of thing that made her the start player of the team.

"Practice doesn't start for another 10 minutes," Miley heard a voice over top her music.

"I know," she answered, continuing to air dribble.

"So what are you doing out here?"

"Practicing." Miley said as if it were obvious – which it was.

"I don't think that's any way you should be talking to your new coach," the mysterious voice chuckled.

Miley froze and immediately stopped kicking the ball, which dropped and rolled a few feet away from her. "Ughhh! Look what you did!" Miley muttered, then picked the ball up and started to air dribble once again. "I didn't know there was something wrong with practicing," she broke the silence after he didn't reply to her.

"Shouldn't you be in the locker rooms with your friends?"

"No?"

"And why is that?" Miley was growing frustrated with this voice's constant prodding. She was trying to practice and this fat tub of lard kept annoying her. "Ughh!" She groaned once again as she lost focus and kicked the ball too far from her. Sighing in defeat, she pulled out her earphones to tell of her new coach. Whipping around, she started saying, "It's hard to practice when-" Oh my. Miley was at loss of what to say. Oh hot damn. He was not a fat lard. Most definitely not. He's fucking hot as shit.