Drip Protocol

The baseball field lights glared overhead as I sat in the bleachers, clutching my iPhone like it was my only lifeline. My Instagram feed wasn't loading — again — and I felt that familiar panic rising in my chest.

"You're doing it again," said Kai, sliding onto the bench beside me. He'd been my best friend since kindergarten, back when friendship meant sharing crayons, not coping mechanisms. "The phone thing. Where you check it every thirty seconds like you're waiting for the world to end."

I rolled my eyes. "It's just a habit. Besides, my mom's supposed to call."

"Uh-huh." He passed me a water bottle. "You know what your therapist said. About the doomscrolling and anxiety being connected."

Our school's varsity baseball team was losing 3-7, and honestly? Same. My therapist thought my social media addiction was masking real feelings. My mom thought I just needed more structure. I thought everyone needed to chill.

Then Marcus Harper — who, two weeks ago, had been practically live-blogging our entire friend group's drama — walked past the dugout carrying an orange Gatorade. Not orange-flavored. Actual orange Gatorade, which shouldn't exist but apparently does.

He didn't check his phone once.

"Wait," I said, sitting up straighter. "Is Marcus Harper... phone-free?"

Kai frowned. "He hasn't posted in, like, eleven days. Rumor is he got into some fight online and deleted everything."

I stared at Marcus. He looked weirdly peaceful. Meanwhile, my iPhone burned in my hand, its glass cold against my sweating palms, demanding my attention like a needy ex.

Without thinking, I reached for my water bottle and my phone at the same time. My elbow knocked the bottle over. Water cascaded across the aluminum bench, directly onto my phone.

"NO!" I lunged for it, but the damage was done. Black screen. Silence.

The panic I expected didn't come. Instead, I felt something else. Lighter. Free.

Kai was already helping me soak up the water with his jersey. "Dude, your phone —"

"Forget it," I said, and I meant it. For the first time in months, I looked at the baseball game. Really looked. The way the pitcher's arms moved. The sound the bat made when it connected. The way Kai was looking at me like I'd grown a second head but in a good way.

"Wanna get pizza after?" Kai asked. "Like, without posting about it?"

I grinned. "Yeah. Let's be mysterious like Marcus Harper."

The game ended — we lost, but whatever. Walking home, I felt something shift. My phone was dead, but for the first time in forever, I was waking up.