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Rays of sunlight shoot through the windows of the LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts, illuminating specks of dust swirling in the spacious, high-ceilinged office of Laura Marks. The 51-year-old teacher of health and physical education fishes two photographs from her handbag and lays them on her desk. One shows a swollen bruise near the base of her spine. The other reveals five fingernail scratches carved into her neck.

The wounds鈥攊nflicted by a troubled teenager鈥攈ave healed; the chronic insomnia that kept Marks up until 4 in the morning has subsided; and she is no longer afraid to leave home. Marks is teaching again, and she鈥檚 happy to be back.

At this moment in June, she sits upright, smiling, enjoying a break after a morning of proctoring final exams. Playbills are tacked on a wall behind her, advertising Broadway shows such as 鈥淩iverdance,鈥� 鈥淩agtime,鈥� and 鈥淭itanic"鈥� mementos she collects to decorate her office. But as she begins to recall the day of the assault, her 5-foot-9-inch frame droops, and the smile fades into a frown. She pauses. Maybe she鈥檚 hearing the teenager鈥檚 angry screams. Or her own inner voice warning her not to strike back. Or maybe she鈥檚 feeling those fingers rip at her hair.

Her lower lip quivers, and tears roll from her hazel eyes. Her voice rocks upward, filling with indignation. 鈥淚 was embarrassed by it鈥擨 was embarrassed by having been beaten up by a student,鈥� she says in her distinctive Bronx accent. 鈥淚 felt betrayed.鈥�

Marks was not stabbed, shot, or beaten with a baseball bat鈥攖he unfortunate experiences of some teachers. She was not hospitalized; nor did she suffer injuries that left her disabled. But she was viciously attacked. The perpetrator, who had failed one of Marks鈥� classes, was told she wouldn鈥檛 be permitted to graduate. So on graduation day 2000, she hunted Marks down.

Violence is not something usually associated with LaGuardia High. The 2,500- student magnet school attracts kids from across New York City whose priorities are art, music, and theater. On any given day, a visitor might see teenagers bounding across a hardwood floor in ballet class. Or playing violins. Or sculpting. The school is a virtual melting pot of racial and ethnic backgrounds, a mix that Marks counts as one of its strengths. One social studies teacher says that when he first started working at LaGuardia, he thought he鈥檇 died and gone to heaven.

The odds are that most of the nation鈥檚 teachers will never know what it鈥檚 like to be assaulted by a student. But the reality is, such incidents do occur, even at exceptional schools. Between 1995 and 1999, an estimated 634,700 violent crimes were committed against faculty members at public and private schools. That translates into 29 violent crimes for every 1,000 teachers per year, according to 鈥淚ndicators of School Crime and Safety 2001,鈥� a report released last month by the U.S. departments of Justice and Education. Union officials suggest the numbers are much higher because most assaults go unreported.

Whatever the exact statistics, little, if any, research has been done to examine the psychological effects an assault has on a teacher. Some experts say such incidents spark a confusing blur of emotions, even feelings of guilt: Why me? What did I do to cause this behavior? Others liken these attacks to a child assaulting a parent, a violent betrayal of authority, the ultimate show of disrespect.

Some teachers have filed lawsuits against their attackers. Others have left the profession. Many, like Marks, return after an extended leave. But they, too, wrestle with thoughts of quitting. 鈥淚t really chips away at the core of a teacher鈥檚 identity,鈥� says Angela Carr, the coordinator of clinical counseling services for the New York- based United Federation of Teachers鈥� victim-support program. 鈥淎s they heal physically, you hope they won鈥檛 be so afraid that they don鈥檛 come back to teaching.鈥�

Unfortunately, many who do return are never themselves again, says Carr, who counseled Marks. The more severe the assault and injury, she adds, the more serious the emotional aftershocks. Teachers who are stabbed or shot, for example, are much more likely to leave the job and suffer chronic psychological problems than those whose physical injuries don鈥檛 demand extensive medical care. Yet even victims who aren鈥檛 hospitalized face great uncertainty.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a major traumatic experience for a teacher,鈥� says Ken Trump, the president of National School Safety and Security Services, a consulting firm based in Cleveland. 鈥淭he question is, how do you deal with it?鈥�

For Marks, the comeback has been a struggle鈥攐ne that, initially, kept her holed up in her house.

But time, the support of friends and family, and a foray into the legal system gradually enabled her to work her way back, in January of 2001, to the classroom. What she didn鈥檛 know then, and couldn鈥檛 have guessed, was that her state of mind would be severely tested several months later, on a day when the world would turn its attention toward both New York City and Washington.

On the day Marks was assaulted鈥擩une 27, 2000鈥� students wearing light-gray caps and gowns formed lines in the elegant second- floor lobby of Avery Fisher Hall in the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, which is only a short walk from LaGuardia High. The sounds of Barry Manilow singing live in a nearby courtyard鈥攁 crew happened to be taping him for a network TV show鈥攄rifted through the walls that morning.

The teachers were dressed for the occasion. Marks was wearing a long tunic and pants flowing with bright blues and purples, an outfit she鈥檇 bought before a trip to Morocco. Some of the adults chatted with students. In just a few minutes, they would all enter the hall to the cheers of parents and friends.

One rookie chemistry teacher, Antonietta Pace, remembers offering tips to kids on how to survive college. Like others, she was caught up in the excitement of the event鈥攖hat is, until she caught a glimpse of Marks, who was about 15 feet away. She was talking to Tiffany Packer, an attractive 18-year-old who鈥檚 almost half a foot shorter than Marks. Wearing a floral sundress, Packer appeared to be dressed for the occasion. But, in fact, she鈥檇 failed Marks鈥� health class and, therefore, had been denied the privilege of graduating. Packer was convinced that Marks was to blame.

鈥淚 had already met with her and explained to her the consequences,鈥� Marks recalls one year later. 鈥淲hen it comes to grading, you think long and hard before you fail a senior. You don鈥檛 just fail a senior. But Tiffany was not even close. She failed exams; she didn鈥檛 turn in much work; she was absent 50 percent of the time. There was no question she failed.鈥�

As it turns out, Packer, who did not return calls for this article, almost flunked three courses, according to Marks. But the student had persuaded one teacher to change her grade from an F to a D. And Marks believes that an administrator (she鈥檚 not sure who) told Packer that if the health teacher changed her grade, she would be allowed to pass the other class, too.

Paul Saronson, LaGuardia High鈥檚 principal, would not comment on the incident and its aftermath. But Jeffrey Knorr, a social studies teacher and the school鈥檚 UFT representative, says: 鈥淚t seems obvious to me that this kid was told, 鈥業f you can get this teacher to change your grade, you graduate.鈥� With Tiffany, at least one other teacher did change a grade, so that only increased her hostility toward Laura.鈥�

In the Lincoln Center lobby, Packer continued to pester Marks. Would she change the grade? 鈥淚 told her no,鈥� Marks says. 鈥淏ut she kept asking. I was starting to get a little nervous. . . . No matter where I went, she dogged me. She was right at my heels. I was looking for a security guard. I smelled trouble coming.鈥�

But first, Marks turned to Packer and, one more time, said, 鈥淣o.鈥� Then she began to walk away. That鈥檚 when the teenager exploded. As she lunged at Marks, Packer screamed, 鈥淵ou bitch, you ruined my life!鈥� recalls Pace, who witnessed the incident.

Packer, she says, grabbed Marks鈥� hair, which was shoulder-length at the time, and yanked the teacher鈥檚 head forward. Bent over, Marks eyed her purple crystal necklace, which had fallen to the floor. The teenager then punched Marks repeatedly in the back of the neck and head as she continued to clutch the teacher鈥檚 hair with her other hand. Soon, fingernails were digging into Marks鈥� neck. 鈥淚 was holding on to my hair with my right hand because I thought she would rip it out of my head,鈥� Marks says.

As she tried, in vain, to grab the hand that was punching her, Marks did not consider defending herself. The instinct to protect her students, not hurt them, held her back and left her helpless. 鈥淚 remember saying over and over in my head: Don鈥檛 hit her. Don鈥檛 hit her. Don鈥檛 hit her,鈥� Marks says.

One male teacher saw the student attack Marks before the graduation ceremony, but he turned and walked away.

That鈥檚 when Pace jumped into the fray. 鈥淎t first, I looked around to see if any male teachers were around to help,鈥� she says. 鈥淥ne male teacher saw what was happening and turned his back and walked away. When I see him now, it makes my stomach turn.鈥�

The 25-year-old chemistry teacher, who is much smaller than Marks, remembers wedging herself between the two women. Seconds later, a male colleague grabbed Packer from behind. But Marks鈥� hair was still wrapped tightly around the teenager鈥檚 hand. So Pace had to pry Packer鈥檚 fingers, one by one, from Marks鈥� hair. She then quickly led her colleague to the opposite end of the hallway to await assistance.

In the confusion, Packer managed to slip free. She wandered into the men鈥檚 room, came back out, and attempted to enter the graduation hall. 鈥淒uring the whole thing,鈥� Pace says, 鈥淭iffany鈥檚 friends kept telling her, 鈥楾his isn鈥檛 the way to deal with this.鈥� 鈥� Finally, security guards escorted the teenager out of the building.

A dazed Marks was eventually taken to one of the Lincoln Center offices, where a police officer asked if she wanted Packer arrested. Marks said, 鈥淣o.鈥� Did she need an ambulance? 鈥淣o.鈥� When another officer started asking questions, Marks, upset and confused, told him, 鈥淚 have no interest in ruining her life.鈥�

A short time later, an assistant principal walked Marks to her car. As she drove to her doctor鈥檚 office alone, a lump on her head swelled up and a black-and-blue circle fattened near her neck. 鈥淚 felt physically and psychologically numb,鈥� Marks remembers.

Meanwhile, graduation went on as planned. But Pace was troubled. 鈥淭hat was my first year of teaching鈥擨 didn鈥檛 expect that from this kind of school,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 was shocked nobody else went in to help except me and another teacher. That was very upsetting.鈥� Indeed, some teachers advised her not to be Wonder Woman the next time something similar occurred. 鈥淭hey were mad at me for putting myself in danger to help,鈥� Pace says. 鈥淚鈥檝e been thinking about that a lot. I felt I had no other choice. It was my moral duty as a human being.鈥�

The incident makes Pace uneasy for another reason. She has since tried to put herself in Marks鈥� shoes. What if she were to fail a student who was already in danger of not graduating? 鈥淚f I鈥檓 too tough and push the wrong button,鈥� Pace says, 鈥渢his kid could come back and beat the crap out of me.鈥�

Arriving at her suburban home bruised and scratched, Marks told her 67-year-old husband, Michael, about the incident and her visit to the doctor. But she was still complaining about the pain, so he drove her back to the physician鈥檚 office. Later that day, the Markses fielded calls from teachers wanting to check on Laura. Finally, that night, she fell into a deep sleep as the events of the day wormed into her subconsciousness. At 3 a.m., she awoke suddenly; her hands trembled, and knots of fear twisted in her stomach. She鈥檇 had a nightmare filled with images from the attack: Packer, her long fingernails, the punches.

Over the next few months, Marks鈥� life fell into a fitful rhythm. Sleep came in 15- to 30-minute increments. She was thinking too much, wondering if her life as a teacher had been an illusion. She questioned her sense of security in the classroom, her role as an authority figure, her belief that most students appreciate being held accountable. 鈥淚 would wander the house in the middle of the night,鈥� Marks says. 鈥淚 would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I would not relive the incident, but I would lie in bed praying to go to sleep, thinking of all the characters involved. That was my theme song: When am I going to be able to sleep? When is this going to go away?鈥�

Carr, the UFT psychologist, says reactions to assaults vary. Some teachers quit, and others bounce back. But most, she says, experience 鈥渁 roller coaster of emotions. At first, they鈥檙e just numb. Then it sinks in鈥攖hey think obsessively, 鈥榃hy did this happen to me?鈥� Then [if they鈥檝e considered quitting], they mourn the loss of what they were, a teacher.鈥� Eventually, most return to the classroom. But, Carr says, 鈥渨hen this happens to a brand-new teacher, it drives them right out of the profession.鈥�

Some school-safety experts say that the fear of violence alone is enough to keep prospective teachers away from classrooms. In a survey of 465 deans and career directors at colleges of education across the country, the American Association for Employment in Education reports that school- related violence鈥攏ot low salaries or overcrowding鈥攈as the biggest negative influence on teacher supply.

Other student-behavior problems contribute to such fears. For instance, 12 percent of public school principals reported that verbal abuse of teachers was a moderate to serious problem in their schools, according to 鈥淰iolence and Discipline Problems in U.S. Public Schools: 1996- 97,鈥� the most recent Department of Education report on the subject. That percentage may not seem alarming, and reports of verbal assaults remained relatively steady for most of the 1990s. But experts say verbal confrontations can easily escalate into physical attacks. And even after just one teacher is assaulted, the perception of a school鈥檚 environment is altered.

鈥淵ou feel safe in a neighborhood until you hear that a neighbor鈥檚 house has been robbed,鈥� says Jerald Newberry, the executive director of the National Education Association鈥檚 Health Information Network. 鈥淚t鈥檚 very similar for teachers in schools where there are no problems and not much anxiety [about being assaulted]. When something does happen, it shifts their feelings of security very quickly and irretrievably.鈥�

Marks says that, after the assault, when she decided to take some time off, she never heard from her principal鈥攁 detail that still bothers her. At first, fellow teachers at LaGuardia High, as well as close friends, called regularly. But the calls tapered off after about two months. That got Marks to thinking: Maybe her friends had grown weary of hearing about the attack. Perhaps they were frustrated that it was taking her鈥攁 person one friend describes as 鈥渦pbeat and positive"鈥攕o long to recover. Or maybe they didn鈥檛 want to think about the possibility of the same kind of thing happening to them.

Meanwhile, Marks was a prisoner in her own house. She imagined dangers lurking in places she鈥檇 never worried about before. For example, she refused to take her dog, Max, a white terrier, for a walk in her sleepy suburban neighborhood in New Rochelle, N.Y., unless her husband accompanied her. So most of her days were spent inside. At night, her fears were like shadows鈥攖urning, twisting, stretching her troubled mind.

Twelve days after the assault, Marks began seeing a psychiatrist. During one session, after he鈥檇 suggested that the incident would make her a stronger person, the psychiatrist told her that someday she鈥檇 feel like writing a thank-you note to Packer. 鈥淎t the time, I didn鈥檛 know what he was talking about鈥攂ut now,鈥� Marks says, 鈥淚 know what he was getting at.鈥�

That summer, in fact, Marks did write letters. She spent hours each day on the computer in the den of her white ranch house, crafting letters to witnesses, friends, school administrators, and other people connected to the incident鈥攅veryone except Packer. She鈥檇 often pause in the middle of a letter and peer through the windows behind the computer at two 100-year-old beech trees standing like giant sentries in her backyard. At first, she spewed frustration and anger into her letters. Then she toned them down. But she never sent any鈥攁nd, eventually, she deleted them.

Oddly enough, one source of comfort at the time was an Internet chat room dedicated to movies and actors. Initially, Marks simply read the comments written by others. It was a diversion鈥� some days, the chat room generated as many as 300 messages. Finally, she joined in. "[That] helped me a lot,鈥� she recalls. 鈥淚t was a way to stay connected to the world without being, 鈥極h, poor Laura who got attacked.鈥� 鈥�

Meanwhile, Michael Marks did all the household chores: laundry, cooking, cleaning, walking the dog. 鈥淢y husband was saintly,鈥� Marks says. 鈥淗e was so incredibly patient. He never said, 鈥業t鈥檚 time to move on.鈥� 鈥�

Michael, a retired New York City teacher with wavy gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, says: 鈥淚 always felt she鈥檇 go back to work. She loved her job and the kids. She has a lot of friends there.鈥�

Eventually, Michael was right. On Sept. 5, 2000, Laura was evaluated by a psychiatrist for the New York City schools, who granted her line-of-duty pay through Oct. 20, a benefit extended to teachers injured on the job. That same month, she also resumed some of her chores. And with each week, she took on more responsibilities. She even told her husband she could walk Max on her own.

That October, Michael took Laura to Manhattan for the first time in more than three months. But she wasn鈥檛 up to driving anywhere near LaGuardia High or Lincoln Center. In fact, Marks, who had been told after another psychological evaluation that she was ready to go back to work, was considering not returning to teaching. She鈥檇 even begun to draw from her bank of sick days.

鈥淚 would get hysterical at the thought of coming back, and I did go to a lawyer to investigate the possibility of seeking permanent disability,鈥� Marks says. 鈥淏ut I kept telling the lawyer just to wait. . . . I knew I had to go back.鈥�

By November of last year, she was sleeping better, and the bouts of crying had subsided. And during Christmas break, Marks felt much less fearful than she had only a couple of months earlier. So she decided, in early January, that she would return to LaGuardia High.

On her first day back鈥擩an. 23, 2001鈥擬arks was jittery but made it through. The next morning, though, after parking her car in front of the school, she had a panic attack. Using her cellphone, she dialed a friend who is a counselor at LaGuardia High. The friend met Marks at the car and escorted her inside.

Seated in her office six months later, Marks says of those early days, 鈥淭his is a terrific school, and that helped.鈥� To begin with, 鈥渒ids would come over and hug me,鈥� she adds. 鈥淭hey were very concerned, very thoughtful.鈥� And a new assistant principal, who wasn鈥檛 even on staff at the time of the attack, apologized for what had happened.

Outside of school, Marks was pursuing a case in court. Although she鈥檇 originally told police who questioned her at Lincoln Center that she didn鈥檛 want Packer arrested, she changed her mind later that day after talking with law-enforcement officials and her husband. Packer was taken into custody and formally charged on July 27, 2000.

Marks is glad she pursued criminal charges because she wasn鈥檛 happy with the school district鈥檚 response to the assault. First of all, nobody at the New York City board of education鈥檚 office seemed to know how to handle an incident that had taken place after the school year ended, she says. And the day a hearing was scheduled, the Markses, Antonietta Pace, and other witnesses waited in a board office for three hours鈥攗ntil they were told Packer鈥檚 lawyer had somehow arranged a postponement. When the hearing finally took place later in the summer, Marks says Packer pleaded no contest to what amounted to a discipline infraction. By then, the teenager had already completed summer school and earned a high school diploma.

Marks had no desire to sue Packer, but she did want to teach her former student a lesson. In April of 2001, a little more than two months after returning to LaGuardia High, Marks finally got a taste of justice. Packer pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct, according to Barbara Thompson, the director of public information for the New York County District Attorney鈥檚 Office. In addition to the guilty plea, Packer was ordered to perform five days of community service and write a letter of apology to Marks.

Dated April 25, the letter reads:

Dear Ms. Marks:

Please accept this letter as an apology for my behavior on June 27, 2000. I realize that my conduct was unacceptable and that there is no excuse for it. I would like you to know that I never meant you any harm. I was very emotional and I鈥檓 sorry that this whole [incident] ever happened. I regret the pain and inconvenience this has caused to everyone involved and I sincerely apologize.

Asked about the letter, Marks rolls her eyes and questions the sincerity of the words. She also wonders why it took Packer so long to apologize.

Still, she says: 鈥淭he truth is, I鈥檓 not interested in ruining her life. I want her to learn how to deal with her anger. Maybe this will prevent her from doing something like this to someone else. To see her found not guilty would have killed me. After that day, as far as I was concerned, it was over and done with.鈥�

On a drizzly Monday afternoon in September, Michael Marks is seated at his kitchen table. He and Laura have invited a reporter to visit their home and observe the physical education teacher at the start of a new school year, which, for New York City, began a week before. Michael, a former English teacher at Stuyvesant High School in Manhattan, isn鈥檛 convinced his wife will ever be the same person again, especially in school. He himself was never assaulted during his 33-year career.

鈥淚 suspect she鈥檚 not going to let herself get as close to the kids as she was before,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut I don鈥檛 know what the long-term effects of this are going to be. What if a kid comes up to her in a threatening way? What鈥檚 going to happen to her?鈥�

His concerns are well-founded. What were once everyday exchanges between a teacher and a student may now appear potentially dangerous to someone who鈥檚 been assaulted, according to the UFT鈥檚 Carr. And Marks concedes that the incident has had an effect on her grading standards. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 think it would,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut I鈥檓 grading more leniently. Am I doing this because I鈥檓 afraid? I don鈥檛 know.鈥�

Still, she鈥檚 determined to stick with teaching. In fact, she鈥檚 outright defiant in her attitude. No student, she feels, is ever going to determine when she鈥檒l end her career. After dinner, she tells Michael that tomorrow she plans to wear the blue-and-purple tunic and pants she wore the day she was assaulted. She likes the outfit. He rolls his eyes, questioning this symbolic gesture.

She asks, 鈥淲hy not?鈥�

As Marks drives through heavy traffic into Manhattan the next morning, sunshine glints off the Hudson River. Getting close to LaGuardia High, she pinches the threads of her outfit with two fingers and says: 鈥淚f anything bad happens today, I鈥檒l burn this thing.鈥� It鈥檚 Sept. 11.

The first signs of trouble emerge as Marks hustles through a security checkpoint inside the school. Uniformed guards say a plane has hit the World Trade Center. On her way to a physical education class, she stops to pick up mail. Teachers hurry in and out of the mailroom. Someone says that another plane has struck the other tower. There鈥檚 speculation. Fears mount.

Soon, the school is awash in worry. Students lean against walls in the hallways and frantically tap numbers into their cellphones. But the calls don鈥檛 go through. Tears stream down the cheeks of some students. Others cover their faces or simply look bewildered. Yet Marks, like many of her colleagues, copes with the tragic events by doing her job. She takes attendance and conducts vision screenings for the better part of the day. During one health class, she discusses the importance of donating blood, especially on a day like this.

As calm as Marks and the other teachers attempt to be, the fear at LaGuardia High is palpable. A muscular boy asks Marks, 鈥淲hat do you do if you only have one parent, and she works at the World Trade [Center]?鈥� The boy begins to cry, and a girl comforts him. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 going to haunt me until I know his mother is OK,鈥� Marks says quietly.

Later, a boy offers his phone to Marks so that she can call her husband. After she gets through to Michael, he tells her that their son, David, a student at the University of North Carolina in Asheville, called to see how she鈥檚 doing. 鈥淢ichael, we鈥檙e OK,鈥� she says, her voice cracking. 鈥淚鈥檒l call you [later] if I can. I鈥檓 OK. Don鈥檛 worry about me. I love you.鈥�

Between periods, Marks and a few other teachers venture up to the eighth floor to catch a glimpse of the towers. But they鈥檙e gone. Plumes of smoke rise in the distance, just beyond the line of buildings on the horizon, casting an ominous silhouette against the clear blue sky.

No student, she feels, is ever going to determine when she鈥檒l end her career.

By late afternoon, most of the school鈥檚 students find ways to get home. Marks will not need to stay later to help supervise the teenagers. So she grabs her handbag and heads for an exit.

The drive out of the city along the Hudson River is eerie. Traffic is backed up going out. But hardly any cars are going in. Occasionally, a police cruiser packed with six or seven officers zooms toward the city. A Ford Explorer carrying eight firefighters pulling on their equipment slows at a police checkpoint. Tears fall down Marks鈥� cheeks. 鈥淭his is like a movie,鈥� she says.

Eventually, she arrives home and gives Michael a hug. He reports that some of the students at his former school, Stuyvesant, which is just a few blocks from the World Trade Center, saw people jumping from the towers.

School is canceled the next day, but Marks returns to LaGuardia High that Thursday. She鈥檚 told that the boy who was worried about his mother found her in a hospital, recovering from injuries. But the stories of those who didn鈥檛 survive, of the hijacked planes, of those buried in the rubble left by the terrorist assaults鈥攊t鈥檚 almost too much to bear. She feels exhausted the rest of the week and wonders if working in Manhattan is more dangerous than she ever imagined.

Still, Marks keeps the blue-and-purple outfit. She doesn鈥檛 burn it, because there is hope. Back in June, Marks said she realized why she鈥檇 returned to teaching 鈥渙nce I saw the kids.鈥� Today, she says that on Sept. 11, she felt that connection more deeply than ever before.