Disclaimer: see chapter 1

January 1955; SAN FRANSISCO HIGH SCHOOL

Dr. Henry Jones Jr. examined his classroom, or what was to be his for the second semester of the school year. He swept his hand across the blackboard, brand-new and perfectly installed. The room was crisp and clean. It was depressing. The room was entirely too sterile. He walked the perimeter, hoping for some vision as to how to make the place more comfortable. Unfortunately, he found none. Simply letting high school students roam the room would hopefully take care of the place's need for dirt. He released a heavy sigh. Here he was, a college professor, trying to instill the appreciation of Egypt's pyramids and the Great Wall into a bunch of bobbysoxers and drugstore Romeos. Class started in half an hour and he needed to find his edge. Somehow, he had to gain the students' respect. He decided to wing it, and retired to his office.

He held the attendance list, not even reading it. This was the time of year he dreaded most. This was the time of year Marion had left after entering his life again for a brief but beautiful time. He remembered back to that day, shouting after the train. Coming home, and completely isolating himself from what had happened. He sighed, and decided he'd better at least have an idea of the students' names. Roxanna Aldenburg; Danny Anderson; Gina Belfoulle; Hayley Bright; Timothy Burgous; His mind wandered. All he could think of was the slim face and dark hair, one strand escaping from its ribbon, and hanging loosely over her left eye…Carolyn Potter; Indiana Ravenwood; Jonathan Riker; Wait. He read the last names again. He was not mistaken. The name was correct. Indiana Ravenwood. Just then, the bell rang, startling him out of his thoughts.

Students flooded into the room, all of them giggling and talking and having a marvelous time on their first day back to school. He recognized some faces; others he'd never seen. The bell rang again, signaling the start of class. He walked to the front of the room, and put on his best poker face.

"Good morning students, and welcome to San Fran High. Some of you have just moved here, so those of you who aren't new, please help the others out. Anyway, I must take attendance, please keep reasonably quiet while I take roll." Naturally he started from the top of the list, getting more and more anxious as he got closer to the 'R's.' "Do we have an…Indiana Ravenwood?" There. He said it. Nobody answered. At least, nobody answered verbally. The reply to this was a girl about seventeen years old who skidded through the door, made a sorry attempt at stopping, slingshot herself around the nearest desk, ran headlong into Jones, knocking him only slightly off balance, and landing in a rather undignified manner on her backside at his feet.

"I'm here," she replied, smiling weakly.

"You're late." He pointed out, steadying himself.

That tore it. "I was held up at the office! They demanded to see my record for the umpteenth time and I--"

"Please," he said firmly, "Take a seat."

She rolled her eyes and pulled herself to her feet. Deciding not to make a fool of herself, she resigned her complaint for "Yes sir, sorry sir," then made her way towards the back of the room.

"Name?" she turned.

"What?"

"Name?" he said again.

"Indiana. Indiana Ravenwood. Please call me Anna. Just Anna."

"Fine. Anna Ravenwood. Please, take your seat and we will begin today's lesson in a few minutes." He returned his gaze to the attendance list, but one thought still lingered. He started to speak, "Why, exactly, did the office need to see your record?"

"Just a bunch of jocks picking on the freshmen. I stood up for them; the freshmen, that is. Long story short, they got more than they bargained for and I gave the quarterback a bloody nose. No big deal." All of this was said without batting an eyelash.

Well, there's something you don't hear about every day, He thought, and resumed calling attendance.

There was no way. It was probably a fluke. There had to be more than one Ravenwood out there. And the name Indiana wasn't that uncommon. She did look quite a bit like Marion, and she had the spitfire attitude to match, but that was no reason to make assumptions or jump to conclusions.

Indy brushed the thought away and tried to focus on the lesson plan for the next day. Why did I drop to High School teacher? Because I wanted to take it easy; no more adventure. His thoughts were rudely interrupted by the phone ringing. He sat up with a start, and picked it up. "'Ello?"

"Doctor Jones?" Came the voice on the other end. He sounded French.

"Yeah? Who is this?"

"I hear you are in the treasure hunting business."

"Was. Why does that concern you?"

"I am looking for an idol, No ordinary one, either. This one, you see, has great powers. It is not simply a golden statue. This is of the Incan Storm God Illapa. It is said that he can control weather over the entire globe to the specifications of its holder. I was hoping--"

"Sorry, not interested." He was about to hang up, but the man was determined.

"WAIT. Hear me out. I have heard that you specialize in this sort of work, and that you have nearly retrieved this idol before. I would like you to try again."

"NOT interested. Last time I tried I--"

The man finished his sentence, "Got someone killed? Yes I know."

"I was going to say that I failed miserably but that works too."

"Professor Brody wasn't meant for that type of work. It was his own fault for going with you."

"I dragged him into it when I shouldn't have. I've learned my lesson. Too many have died in the name of 'archeology' and I don't intend for more to join them. Goodbye sir."

"WAIT. If you don't volunteer, I'll find other ways of persuading you."

Indy didn't need this. He hung up without another word. Treasure hunting was no longer part of his life. His whip had been packed away since he returned from Cuzco in September 1942; right after Brody had been killed.

That day in Peru flooded back to him. They were hot on the trail of the legendary storm god. It could make the world a better place: rain in the Midwest to help the crops, calmer storms over the Atlantic for easier passage, but then again…storms in the Sahara, drought in the rainforest; it could easily cause world chaos. The Incans saw the danger in this. They hid the idol away in a temple deep in the forest, away from the 'wrong hands,' where it had been untouched for centuries. This piece would make an excellent addition to the Museum's collection; and it would be kept safe where nobody could use it for their own profit.

Indy had found the location of the Incan storm god, and after some coaxing, convinced Brody to come with him to find it. What started as a tough, but still reasonably nice day took a turn for the worst when they ran into other so-called archeologists who were interested only in selling the idol on the Black Market. Of course, Indy and Brody found the entrance to where the idol was kept before the others did; which led them into trouble they would never escape.

The raiders pulled guns, and forced them against a wall. Indy made a few remarks relating that they won't be able to get past the first booby trap or something to that effect. The raiders 'insisted' that Indy help; and he said he wouldn't help unless they freed Brody. They shot him. They shot them both. They then went after the idol. Indy was right. The raiders got themselves locked in the idol chamber and who-knows-what happened to them. By the time Indy got to the radio, Brody was dead.

Indy made a full recovery, but losing a friend and collogue was enough. He packed away his hat, coat, gun and whip. If he ever saw them again, it would be too soon.

Indy sighed, and resumed reading the next day's lesson plan.