Free Tangled by Carolyn Mackler

with all your shit. She had her own things going on.”
    I visualized slamming his head into the wall, felt the satisfying crack of his skull.
    Timon continued. “You know that necklace Natalie got you in the Bahamas?”
    “What about it?” I asked, clenching my fists. Natalie and I had only been together a few months when she went on a vacation with her family. Things were goodwith us back then. We hadn’t even broken up once. We chatted online every day of her trip and, when she got home, she brought me a T-shirt and a white puka-shell necklace. The shirt got wrecked in the dryer, but I still wear the necklace every day.
    “Some guy at our resort gave it to her,” Timon said, “to remember the time they spent together. You know, the long walks on the beach, the—”
    I shoved Timon in the chest. He went stumbling backward a few steps but then regained his footing, lunged forward, and pushed me hard. I pushed him again. He drew his arm to punch me, but before he could make contact I dropped onto my knee, wrapped my arms around his legs, and drove my shoulder into him.
    Timon fell to the ground with me straddling him. I was just getting ready to pound his face when, all of a sudden, I felt intense pain. Someone was gripping my shoulder, yanking me off Timon, shoving me into the wall.
    “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Coach Ritter shouted. He was breathing fast and I could see veins pulsing in his temples.
    I craned my head around Coach. Timon was standing up, shaking out his suit. A couple girls werefluttering around him, offering to fetch ice from the nurse.
    “Come with me,” Coach barked, grabbing my elbow.
    Neither of us said a word as he steered me through the halls, down the stairs, and into the weight room. He propelled me into his office and jabbed a finger at his chair.
    “I’ll be back,” he said as I slumped down. “Don’t move an inch.”

five
    I got a week’s vacation. That’s the automatic sentence for fighting. I’d never been suspended before because, other than minor shoving, I hadn’t been in full-fledged combat on school premises.
    Coach was the one who handed down my punishment. It’s usually the vice principal, but I have a feeling he let Ritter do it because of the circumstances, Natalie’s ceremony and all. I ended up waiting in Coach’s office for an hour, spinning around in his chair, reading the memos on his walls. He was probably up in the auditorium. I wondered what would happen in the slot when I was supposed to give my speech. My name was in the program and everything. I wondered who would lead people down the hall to see Natalie’s plaque.
    At ten, Coach opened his office door, gestured to the folding chair, and said, “Move it.”
    I stood up, wincing in pain. My left knee was smashed from where I’d dropped onto the floor when I took Timon down.
    Coach sat in his chair, leaned forward so he was looking me in the eye, and said, “What the hell were you doing up there, Dakota?”
    Coach never calls me by my name. I was in deep shit. I looked down at my shoes. I wasn’t going to whine about the crap Timon said to me, how he was asking for it.
    “I know emotions were running high,” he added, “but I always tell you guys that you’ve got to walk away. Especially now that you’re eighteen. You’re not a minor anymore. You don’t want people pressing assault charges, do you?”
    “No,” I said.
    “I spoke with Mr. B,” Coach said. “You’ve got five days. Nothing I could do about that.”
    “What about baseball?”
    “Out for a month. That means you’ll miss the rest of the year unless you guys win sectionals.”
    “Shit,” I muttered.
    “Watch the language,” he said, reaching for hisphone. “What’s your number?”
    “You mean my home number? Who’re you calling?”
    “Parents have to be notified when there’s a fight. Mr. B wanted me to get your dad in for a conference, but I convinced him that a phone call would do. It’s your first