1. The Blitz in the Bean

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My brother's baseball game taught me to hate social media

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My brother's baseball game taught me to hate social media.

Okay, okay. I know what you might be thinking. "But Ivy, social media has built careers! It's allowed people to connect from opposite ends of the world!"

All valid points. Except mine are more valid. See, I discovered something--with my own eyes, too.

It was a Saturday. The sun slapped me in the face, not once but over ten times, rubbing hot putty into my cheeks until my skin began to boil. This wasn't an exaggeration, either; in fact, it was an understatement.

Orlando sucked.

I looked up from scrolling through Twitter to study my surroundings. The all-too-familiar diamond pattern on the field greeted me from below, its players lined up to do whatever they were supposed to do. Today, they weren't in uniforms. It was baseball season, but they hadn't played a casual game like this in a while.

I'd situated myself in a corner, far from the teeming crowd. I was sure I looked pretty sad over there, in the bleachers, especially with the thick covering of clouds over my head, but I felt fine. The rest of my life was nothing compared to this. Sitting alone felt like a treat.

Shouts flooded my ears.

"Dude! He's breaking the rules!"

"There are no rules! We're just playing for fun, remember?"

Some guy decided to stand up and chuck a shoe at the field.

My heart dropped with the sweat on my neck. Arguments, especially among hormonal teenagers, meant I'd be sitting here for at least another hour. Two had passed already. I was surprised I hadn't passed out yet.

I tugged at the collar of my shirt and returned to my screen. Being the paranoid mess I was, I'd switched the brightness to its lowest setting. I couldn't see a thing. For all I know, I could've been retweeting communist propaganda.

This went on for a few agonizing minutes. I only stopped because of the screams.

They rose like wind, fluttering and flapping, almost like a mesmerizing dance number. A harmonious symphony. A--

Just kidding. It was chaos.

"Get him!" someone yelled. Someone else crushed a water bottle in his fist, holding the overflowing fountain to his lips as it drenched his shirt. One girl even jumped from the bleachers, tripped, and face-planted in the sand.

"Calm down!" said a familiar voice.

The water bottle guy gasped and pointed a finger at Isaac's head, almost as if he were shooting a finger bullet straight through. "Shut up! That was art, and you know it."

Isaac threw his bat down and forced his baseball cap over his eyes. "It's too hot for this."

"All right!" called a player from across the field, his words pelting the sand. "Isaac has the final say! Game over, guys."

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