Note: This account is highly fictitious and intended for satirical purposes. However, the fact that RRISD did not delay school today is indeed true, as we all know.

This morning, many students took to Twitter to express their outrage in response to RRISD’s announcement that school would not be delayed. Despite the fact that neighboring school districts, like Leander ISD and Austin ISD, informed their students of the delays last night, Round Rock ISD waited until approximately 5:37 a.m. to let their constituents know that “All RRISD schools will open as normal” via Twitter. Unlike my fellow students, who rehashed with retorts, complaints, and gifs to express their fury, I looked beyond the public outrage. Something was up. Something had to be up. There had to be some plausible explanation as to why RRISD seemingly believed that they understood weather better than the other districts. The onslaught of rain was uniform across the greater city of Austin: even college campuses like UT Austin and ACC pushed back classes, and employees of the city stayed home. This information contributed to my suspicions; I knew that I had to dig deeper to get to the bottom of this.

To quench my investigative thirst, I headed straight for the source. I went to Round Rock ISD headquarters. It was by no means easy to get in, as I had to hastily schedule an appointment to meet with the people in charge of inclement weather protocols.

The second I entered the building, I tensed in reaction to the frigid air. The air conditioner was kept on the coldest possible setting, a common occurrence throughout RRISD schools. The staff at the front desk directed me to the Office of Risk Management, which I tentatively entered.

The room was empty. Slowly, I took a seat at the desk in the center of the room, and waited. I fidgeted anxiously until a booming voice jolted me from my seat.

“WHO DARES ENTER?”

“I’m a reporter from Westwood Student Press,” I managed to squeak, “I, uh, I made an appointment?”

“Oh. One second,” a man emerged from the shadows, holding a megaphone. “Sorry about that. We use this to scare all the parents who come in to complain. They usually don’t make appointments.”

As it turned out, this was the man that I was waiting to see. He asked me specifically not to use his name, so from hereon out, he will be referred to as Mr. R.

Mr. R was very reluctant to answer my questions at first. When I inquired about why students were only informed at 5:37 am, instead of the night before, his response was merely, “5:37? I told them to post at 5:30. I gotta talk to those guys in the Social Media department.”

However, I struck gold when I asked about RRISD’s understanding of weather.

“Mr. R, our school district is the only one in the greater Austin area that did not delay school today, leading me to the conclusion that the Round Rock Independent School District somehow has a greater understanding of weather. It’s the only reasonable explanation. You know more than you’re letting on.”

He shifted uncomfortably for a second. Then a slow, ambiguous smile spread across his face.

“Come with me, I’ll show you.”

I followed Mr. R down a winding hallway that seemed to go on for miles. Just when I thought that our walk would never end, he stopped abruptly in front of a discrete, unmarked door.

“You are about to witness something that no student has ever seen,” he whispered gleefully, eyeing the door with the pride of a new parent, “so please, use discretion.” With that, he slowly turned the doorknob and gestured for me to go inside.

Right as I stepped inside, a cacophonous whirring noise assaulted my ears. Sitting in the middle of the room was a small man wearing a tan suit, meditating. The whirring noise was incessant, and I realized that it was coming from the walls. Also projecting from the walls were holograms of weather maps, flickering occasionally.

“Who is he?” I yelled over the obnoxious sound, “what is he doing? What is that noise?”

Mr. R rolled his eyes, obviously weary of my lack of knowledge. “That’s the best meteorologist. The best one in the entire world.”

“What?”

“You heard me. He’s the best. He’s meditating right now, to the sound of barometers and anemometers at work.”

I didn’t even bother questioning if either of those instruments actually made such a horrible sound. “How did you get him?”
“I can’t go into too many details. Other school districts may get the same idea. Let’s just say that a lot of energy, money, and time went into tracking him down.”

The little man in the middle of the room continued to mediate. He was chanting something under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out.

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Mr. R shoved me out of the room.

“You’ve seen enough.”

“Wait, but–”

“That’s all for now,” he told me firmly, “you’ve already seen too much. This meteorologist, he knows more than anyone else about weather. Anyone else in the world.”

“But how–”

Mr. R had already ushered me back to the entrance of the building. “Goodbye.”

After my experience at the RRISD headquarters, I felt a little shaken, very confused, and not very comforted. However, I did have a little more understanding as to why RRISD did indeed have a greater understanding of weather; the nameless greatest meteorologist in the world. I could only hope they gained him through ethical means. My investigation allowed me to get insight on the professional level, but I decided that I wanted to conclude with a student’s opinion. This student also asked not to be named, so from here on out, they will be referred to as X.

I sat down with X in the library, and they blatantly told me their view on things.

“RRISD always waits until the last minute to tell us,” X tells me boldly, “they’re a weak and crumbling totalitarian regime. They don’t fight, they shield. They don’t want to face the angry students, so they wait until we can’t do anything about it.”

“Don’t you think that’s a very strong opinion?”

“You know,” X said, adjusting their tin foil hat, “some may think that. But I think that this lack of a delay is outrageous. The only people in the entire city who are outside their houses are RRISD kids, their parents who have to drive them, and their teachers. It’s like a dystopia. ‘Send the kids into the flood!’”

My interview with student X ended there.

My best efforts of investigative journalism have gotten me thus far, and my efforts to uncover the secrets behind RRISD’s meteorologist do not end here. Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for the continuation of my investigation.