Four million views.
"That's a Navy hold. I'd bet my life on it. I served. That woman is not just a gym teacher."
Emma sat very still for a long time.
Outside, the snow kept falling, soft and indifferent, covering everything.
She called Principal Harris back.
"I'm sorry," he said, before she could speak. "One of the students posted it over break. A sophomore. Tyler Brooks. He didn't mean anything by it. He thought it was cool. He took it down this morning, but it doesn't matter. It's everywhere now."
"I know," Emma said.
"There have been calls. Two news stations. A podcast. Somebody claiming to be a journalist asked the front office if you'd ever served in the military."
"What did they say?"
"They said they couldn't comment on staff." He paused. "Emma, I gave you my word when you came here. Your file stays sealed. Nobody hears it from me. But I can't control what people dig up on their own."
"I understand."
"Do you want to take some time? A week. Two. Let it blow over."
Emma looked out at the white street.
She thought about running. She had run before, in a way. From the Navy. From the hospital. From the folded flag she'd watched someone else's mother hold. She had come to Westbrook to stop running.
"No," she said. "I'll be there Monday."
Monday came with news vans.
Two of them, parked across the street from the main entrance of Westbrook High, their satellite masts pointed at a gray sky. A reporter in a red coat stood on the sidewalk, talking into a camera while students walked past and waved behind her.
Emma parked in the back lot and came in through the gym doors.
The gym was the same as it always was. The smell of floor polish and old sweat. The hum of the heating vents. The faded banner from a state title the basketball team had won in 1998. She set her bag down in her small office and breathed.
Then she heard the door.
"Coach Carter."