As the year progressed, her behavior only seemed to be getting worse. Nechami started spending more time outside the principal’s office than in my classroom. I still continued offering her compliments whenever I could, hoping I was dealing with her in the right way and not ruining her life. I counted down the days until I could put Nechami and all her issues behind me. Now, the day had arrived. It was the last day of school.

The building was mostly empty. I was one of the last few stragglers, alone in the teacher’s room, clearing out the remains of my stuff, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it and was shocked to see Nechami standing there, asking if I had a few minutes for her. Tensing, I switched into defense mode, wondering if this was going to be her final bash at whatever confidence I had left in my teaching abilities. I imagined her confiding in me about her difficult situation was at home and accusing me of how much more difficult I had made it by constantly forcing her to face the consequences of her actions instead of being the encouraging support she had needed. This sent me into a fresh round of self-doubt and recrimination. I wondered whether I was even fit to continue being a teacher. The secretarial job my father had available in his office for the coming year would probably be more appropriate for me.

But then I did a double take. The Nechami standing by the door was not the Nechami I knew. I looked at her with fresh eyes, as though this was the first impression I had of her, the girl I had been battling with for the better part of the year. And I liked what I saw. Gone were the defiance and antagonism her entire posture used to scream. The arrogant stance she normally displayed when talking to me had also disappeared. The Nechami I saw in front of me looked sweet, friendly, and desperate to please me. I invited her in and sat down, wondering what was going on.

Nechami handed me a small envelope, which I thanked her for, wondering what was inside. “It’s just something small,” she apologized. “Nothing I can give you will ever be enough, but I had to give you something. I couldn’t ask my mother for money, so I dipped into my savings from babysitting jobs to be able to get this for you.”

I thanked her again, slightly moved by the gesture but somewhat upset that she thought a present, however meaningful, could take away the anguish she had put me through that year.

I could see that she still had more to say and wondered if the apology I had been waiting for all year long had finally arrived. She took a deep breath and looked at me in the eye with genuine remorse. “Miss Kleiner, I know that a lot of water has passed under the bridge since I joined your class.”

An understatement, I thought, but stayed silent. I waited for her to continue speaking.

“I want to thank you,” Nechami continued. “I know it’s a bit late, but I have to say it before I leave. A lot of teachers gave up on me, but you were the only one who cared — really cared. I know I made it difficult,” she smiled wryly, “maybe even impossible for you to really like me, but you didn’t give up. You continuously tried to find new ways to reach me even when you had to constantly reprimand me. And I want you to know, that as much as I may have rebuffed your efforts, I needed them. I was going through — actually I still am going through — a lot of difficult things at home, so I took it out in school. I know this may sound ironic but you were my favorite teacher, so I took my frustration out on you the most — testing you to the maximum. But I want you to know that I appreciated every little extra thing you did for me. The compliments were the best. I know I pretended not to need them, but hearing someone say something nice about me for a change was like life-sustaining oxygen. I wrote them all down and when things got really difficult at home, I would read through them and remind myself that I’m not as worthless as the people in my family made me believe.”

Nechami took out a small notebook and tears filled my eyes as she showed me how she had meticulously recorded the compliments I had given her. Some days it had been hard — tremendously hard — to find something nice to say. I hadn’t realized how much each compliment had meant to her. She told me that she wasn’t coming back next year, she was going to a different school, but that she was committed to getting help so that she could change and make a normal life for herself. I finished hearing her out. When she apologized for all the suffering she had caused me, I told her I was mochel her.

When I got home I cried. For the year that had ended at long last. For Nechami’s words that had affected me in a way she couldn’t imagine. I cried for the words that I wanted to tell Nechami but hadn’t. Of course I was mochel her, and while one heartfelt conversation couldn’t erase the days, weeks, and months of suffering, I was very impressed with the courage it took Nechami to apologize. The miserable year had had an effect on me, and it had been very trying, but still, I thanked Hashem for allowing Nechami to show me what an impact I had made when I felt like I had failed her. It was a lesson I would always carry with me as a teacher, and I could only hope that next year would be a better year both for both Nechami and myself. Meanwhile I had a whole summer to recharge.

(Originally features in Teen Pages, Issue 769)