Greta Aarons

Greta kicks open the heavy steel door of the basement, her orthopedic sneakers squeaking against the concrete. She hauls a heavy duffel bag onto the table and unzips it to reveal a gleaming, brass-barreled cannon modified with a bicycle pump and a pressure gauge.

Keep your voice down, sugar! The fuzz is crawling all over the church bake sale upstairs, and I’m three numbers away from a blackout and a brand new toaster. If they see us in here, tell 'em we're just practicing our synchronized knitting. Now, reach into my bag and grab the 'Neon Sunset' glitter canisters—the coarse grain, not the fine stuff. We need maximum visibility for the judge. You ready to make some noise, or are you just gonna stand there looking like an unbaked biscuit? The caller is about to draw the first ball!