Names have been changed.

On the first day of high school, I felt like a little fish in a tank full of sharks. To get in the building, students had to wait in line to go through a security check. It made school seem more like a maximum security prison than a learning facility.

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Inside, the four-story building was huge and crowded, which turned my first-day excitement into anxiety. I had to push through a sea full of people who were hanging out in the hallways just to get to class.

Pretty soon, I found out that some teachers would lock you out if you didn’t make it by the late bell, even if the bell rang as you were approaching the classroom door. You would have to spend the period in a room on the first floor called “lockout” along with all the other late kids.

One morning as I was going through the security check, the guard stopped me. “I found something,” the security guard said as my bag was going through the scanning machine. She reached into my bag and pulled out a pair of scissors.

“Oh that? That’s not even mine,” I said. I had borrowed the scissors from a school staff member, had accidentally taken them home, and was now returning them.

“This is contraband,” she said.

“I didn’t know that; if I did I wouldn’t have brought it,” I said.

“Ignorance of the rules is not my problem,” she said. I ended up getting suspended even though the staff member confirmed that they were her scissors.

I was angry. This showed me how messed up the school system was, and how it lacked compassion for students. I wasn’t exactly a saint, of course; I’d been suspended before. But this wasn’t a justifiable suspension, like the times when I refused to give up my phone, or acted out in class, or got into fights.

From Bad to Worse

The discipline system was discouraging, but I also became overwhelmed with schoolwork. By the second semester of freshman year, my effort in school started lagging. I felt the teachers weren’t helping me enough. When I needed help, they were focused on the bad kids in class.

Even my counselor, Mr. Lopez, never took the time to meet with me or talk about my future. For example, he didn’t tell me about the PSAT. He hadn’t even given me the right classes so that I would be on track to graduate—though I didn’t realize that until much later. I asked other kids about him, and they told me they’d had similar experiences.

I stuck it out, but my disappointment continued. I can’t blame everything on my school; I had some issues at home, too. I was living with an alcoholic uncle and another verbally abusive uncle who was loud and destructive. The combination of home problems and lack of care from the school sent my situation from bad to worse.

I stopped applying myself because I felt no one cared. Even though education was valued in my home, no one helped me with homework. At school, if I asked for help, teachers would dryly tell me to go to after-school tutoring, and no student at that school wanted to stay after school. No teacher took the time to tell me that I wasn’t passing the class or to give me options to improve my grades.

Ready for Change

image by Terrence Taylor

During my junior year, my grandfather talked to me about changing schools. Though he was in poor health, he walked up three flights of stairs just to talk to my counselor about me transferring. I felt good that he cared enough to come, but I wasn’t ready for change. Being at my high school was like being in a bad relationship: You know that things aren’t good but you try to stick it out, hoping for better and afraid to change.

My fear kept me from taking my grandfather’s advice. I thought I could overcome the obstacles. I changed my mind when my grandfather died. I wanted to make him proud. I also wanted to be better than my mother, who never graduated from high school.

But when I realized I wasn’t going to graduate at the end of my senior year, I had a discussion with my new guidance counselor, Ms. Martin. She told me about alternative schools that can help students catch up if they’re behind in credits. Now I was open to it; I felt like I had to do something to make up for lost time and get a high school diploma.

Ms. Martin was 10 times better than Mr. Lopez had been. She actually took the time to get to know me. She would call me from class just to see how I was doing. She wanted me to succeed, unlike Mr. Lopez, who didn’t seem to care if I graduated or not. To him, I was just another high school I.D. number.

I walked into Ms. Martin’s office ready to advocate for myself and transfer schools.

“I don’t think this school is good for me. I don’t see me graduating in this type of environment.”

“Well, I told you if you wanted there is a list of schools you can go to that might be better for you, so you can get on track to graduating,” she said.

“OK,” I said, “What do I have to do?”

She explained that I’d have to bring my guardian to the new school, along with my transcript, I.D., and proof of address. Queens Academy was the one closest to me, so I decided to check it out the next morning. Ms. Martin said Queens Academy was a small school where I could get more support. “Good luck,” said Ms. Martin. “I have a feeling you’ll do well there.”

The next morning my dad and I went to Queens Academy. I felt the same excitement I had when I first started high school. I hoped that I could leave the old me behind and have a fresh start.

They explained that the environment was different from larger high schools. It seemed like a safer, more home-like environment where the staff were more like family than robots. They were friendlier than the teachers at my old school and eager to teach us. I decided to enroll.

Starting Over

One thing I liked about Queens Academy was that we were told to address staff by their first names. To me this made them more down to earth. Instead of dictators, they were more like colleagues.

In fact, I felt like I could talk to my new teachers about anything, like college and possible careers. I wasn’t afraid to ask for help if I didn’t understand something, and I felt that they cared about me enough to help me until I did understand. At my old school, I don’t think my teachers even noticed if I was there or not.

Queens Academy also had something called a “good phone call.” Instead of just calling your home if you were bad, teachers also called to let your parents know that you were doing well in class. All of this positive reinforcement made me a better student. It built my confidence so I felt that I could succeed in school if I just kept working hard.

My counselor Susan was very friendly and motherly. She always had a smile and a kind word. She even made sure to congratulate me when I made the honor roll. It felt good to know that she cared and saw that I was trying my best at the school.

Finding a supportive school environment has changed my attitude toward education. I found myself really applying myself, raising my hand to participate, and coming to school on time every day. I did my homework and finished assignments on time.

After the first term, I got one of the best report cards I’d ever received since elementary school, with a 95 average. I was ecstatic that my hard work was paying off and I was closer to getting a high school diploma. The report card proved that I wasn’t dumb and that if I worked hard enough, the outcome would be positive. Now, I finally feel like I am in charge of my destiny.