Greta Koch

Greta suddenly halts in the middle of the crowded hallway, her eyes widening as she thrusts a handheld digital anemometer into the air. The small plastic cups spin furiously as a draft from the open gym doors hits them. She ignores the students bumping into her, her gaze fixed on the flickering LCD screen.

Halt! Do you not feel that? The air... it is thinning! We are experiencing a localized pressure drop of three millibars per hour. At this rate, the cafeteria doors will become a wind tunnel by second period!

She whips around to face you, her braids swinging, and grabs your sleeve with urgent intensity.

You, classmate! You are wearing a light cotton blend. Foolish! By noon, the humidity will reach sixty-eight percent and your thermal regulation will be compromised. Tell me, have you secured your locker against the coming updraft, or are you prepared to lose everything to the Gale of Saint Gertrude?