I looked her in the eye and she met my gaze. Not many mothers would welcome their son’s much older girlfriend into their home so graciously and we both knew it.

“You’re welcome, Anna. Come again sometime.”

T.J. took me in his arms as soon as the elevator doors closed. I exhaled and rested my head on his chest. “Your parents are wonderful.”

“I told you they were cool.”

They were also generous. Because later that night, when I opened the envelope they’d given me, I pulled out a check for twenty-five thousand dollars.

***

The press conference was scheduled to begin at two o’clock. Tom and Jane Callahan stood off to the side, Tom holding a small video camera in his hand, the only one allowed to tape anything.

“I know what they’re going to ask,” I said.

“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to,” T.J. reminded me.

We sat at a long table facing a sea of reporters. I tapped my right foot up and down and T.J. leaned over and pressed down gently on my thigh. He knew better than to leave his hand there for very long.

Someone had taped a large map on the wall showing an aerial view of the twenty-six atolls of the Maldives. A public relations representative for the news channel, assigned to moderate the press conference, began by explaining to the reporters that the island T.J. and I lived on was uninhabited and likely sustained significant damage due to the tsunami. She used a laser pointer and identified the island of Malé as our starting point. “This was their destination,” she said, pointing to another island. “Because the pilot suffered a heart attack, the plane crash-landed somewhere in between.”

The first question came from a reporter standing in the back row. He had to shout so we could hear him.

“What went through your minds when you realized the pilot was having a heart attack?”

I leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “We were scared he would die and worried that he wouldn’t be able to land the plane.”

“Did you try to help him?” another reporter asked.

“Anna did,” T.J. said. “The pilot asked us to put on life jackets and go back to our seats and buckle in. When he slumped over, Anna unbuckled and went forward to start CPR.”

“How long were you in the ocean before you made it to the island?”

T.J. answered that question. “I’m not sure. The sun set about an hour after we crashed and it came up after we made it to shore.”

We answered questions for the next hour. They asked us about everything from how we fed ourselves to what kind of shelter we built. We told them about T.J.’s broken collarbone and the illness that almost killed him. We described the storms and explained how the dolphins saved T.J. from the shark. We talked about the tsunami and our reunion at the hospital. They seemed genuinely in awe of the hardships we faced, and I relaxed a little.

Then a reporter in the front row, a middle-aged woman with a scowl on her face asked, “What kind of physical relationship did you have on the island?”

“That’s irrelevant,” I answered.

“Are you aware of the age of consent in the state of Illinois?” she asked.

I didn’t point out that the island wasn’t in Illinois. “Of course I am.” In case not everyone knew, she decided to enlighten them.

“The age of consent in Illinois is seventeen, unless the relationship involves a person of authority such as a teacher. Then the age is raised to eighteen.”

“No laws were broken,” T.J. said.

“Sometimes victims are coerced into lying,” the reporter countered. “Especially if the abuse occurred early on.”

“There was no abuse,” T.J. said.

She addressed me directly with her next question.

“How do you think Chicago taxpayers will feel about paying the salary of a teacher suspected of sexual misconduct toward a student?”

“There wasn’t any sexual misconduct,” T.J. yelled. “What part of this are you not getting?”

Though I knew they would ask about our relationship, I never considered the possibility that they’d accuse us of lying about it, or think I somehow forced myself on T.J. The seed of doubt the reporter planted would undoubtedly multiply, fed by rumors and speculation. Everyone that read our story would question my actions and my integrity. At the very least, it might be difficult to find a school district willing to take a chance on me, effectively ending my career as a teacher.

When my brain finished processing what her questioning had done, I barely had enough time to scrape my chair back and run for the women’s restroom. I flung open the door of a stall and leaned over the toilet. I’d been unable to eat before the press conference and my empty stomach dry-heaved but nothing came up. Someone opened the door.

“I’m okay, T.J. I’ll be out in minute.”

“It’s me, Anna,” a female voice said.

I came out of the stall. Jane Callahan was standing there. She opened her arms to me and it was so like something my own mom would have done that I threw myself into them and burst into tears. When I stopped crying, Jane handed me a tissue and said, “The media sensationalizes everything. I think some of the general public will see through it.”

I wiped my eyes. “I hope so.”

T.J. and Tom were waiting for us when we walked out of the restroom. T.J. led me to a chair and sat down beside me.

“Are you okay?” He put his arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

“I’m better now.”

“It’ll all work out, Anna.”

“Maybe,” I said. Or maybe not.

The next morning, I read the newspaper coverage of the press conference. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, but it wasn’t good either. The article didn’t question my teaching ability, but it echoed some of the points the reporter made about the likelihood of a school district agreeing to hire me. I handed it to Sarah when she walked into the room. She read it and made a disgusted noise.

“What are you going to do?” Sarah asked.

“I’m going to talk to Ken.”

Ken Tomlinson had been my principal for six years. A thirty-year veteran of the Illinois public school system, his dedication to the students and his support of the teachers made him one of the most respected men in the district. He didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about things that didn’t matter, and he told the best off-color jokes I’d ever heard.

I stuck my head into his office a little after 7:00 a.m. a few days after the press conference. He pushed his chair back and met me at the door.

“Kiddo, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.” He hugged me. “Welcome home.”

“I got your message on Sarah’s answering machine. Thanks for calling.”

“I wanted you to know we were all thinking about you. I figured it might be a little while before you could make it in.” He sat down behind his desk and I sat in a chair across from him. “I think I know why you’re here now.”

“Have you had any calls?”

He nodded. “A few. Some parents wanted to know if you’d be returning to the school. I wanted to tell them what I really thought about their supposed concerns, but I couldn’t.”

“I know, Ken.”

“I’d love to give you your old job back, but I hired someone two months after your plane went down, when we’d all lost hope of you ever being found.”

“I understand. I’m not ready to go back to work yet anyway.”

Ken leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. “People want to make things into something they’re not. It’s human nature. Lay low for a while. Let it blow over.”

“I would never do anything to harm a student, Ken.”

“I know that, Anna. I never doubted you for a minute.” He came out from behind the desk and said, “You’re a good teacher. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not.”

The halls would fill with teachers and students soon, and I wanted to slip out unnoticed. I stood up and said, “Thanks, Ken. That means a lot to me.”