"Ms. Carter! Ms. Carter, just one question. Is it true you served in Naval Special Warfare? Our sources say a woman matching your description was part of a classified program."
Emma kept walking.
"The public has a right to know who's teaching their children!"
Emma stopped at her car. She turned around. The camera light was on, a small red dot.
"The public knows who's teaching their children," she said quietly. "I'm the PE teacher. I teach them how to run, how to stretch, how to lose a game without throwing a tantrum, and how to pick up a teammate when they fall. That's all I am here. Have a good afternoon."
She got in the car and drove away.
That clip went viral too.
By the end of the second week, someone online had found an old photograph. A grainy image from a Navy ceremony, years ago, a row of people in uniform with their faces half-turned. One of them, maybe, looked like Emma. Maybe.
Someone else found a short article from a small newspaper in Texas. A memorial service for a sailor named Daniel Reyes. Killed in an overseas training accident, the article said. Survived by his mother, his two sisters, and his young son.
In the photograph from the memorial, standing in the back with a cane, was a woman with her hair pulled tight and her eyes fixed on the ground.
Emma saw that photo on a Tuesday night.
She didn't sleep.
She sat on the floor of her living room with her back against the couch and her bad leg stretched out in front of her, and she held the phone and looked at Danny's name for a very long time.
Training accident.
That was what they had told his mother. That was what they had to tell her.
It hadn't been an accident. And it hadn't been training.
On Wednesday, she came to school with dark circles under her eyes and the limp a little worse than usual.
Noah Bennett noticed first.
Noah was fourteen, a freshman, thin as a fence post, with an inhaler he kept in the front pocket of his backpack and glasses he was always pushing up his nose. He was the boy she had carried to the nurse's office during the fitness test last semester, his chest heaving, his lips going pale, while the rest of the class stood frozen.
He had followed her around a little ever since. Not in an annoying way. In a quiet way. He showed up early to class and helped her set out cones. He stayed late to put the basketballs back on the rack. He never asked about the video. He never asked about anything.
That morning, he set down a paper cup of coffee on her desk.