Prologue

Isabella arrived one morning at the start of Summit’s second year. She was petite, with perfectly straight dark brown hair, and deep, penetrating brown eyes. She was dressed modestly and carried a school backpack. I didn’t recognize her, so I asked if I could help her, and she politely asked to speak with the principal about transferring. “That’s me,” I said.

We sat down together and the first thing I noticed was her composure and maturity. I was struck that she was a sophomore in high school. Her voice was steady and firm, if quiet. She spoke intentionally and in a measured way, but there was an urgency and resoluteness underneath.

“I want to go to college,” she began. “I’ve heard this school is different and that you guarantee everyone will be ready for college.”

“That’s true,” I said, and held her gaze. That is Summit’s promise. She didn’t look away.

“I need a school like this. I won’t make it to college if I stay at my current school. In the past, I’ve been involved in things....” She paused and looked down at her hands before once again meeting my gaze. “With gangs. And with people who don’t want the future I want. I’m out of those things now, but at my current school those people from my old life are all around me, pulling me back every day. I don’t want to go backward. I want to go forward. I want to go to college.”

I felt myself tense up. I did not want gangs at Summit. And, sadly, I’d never met a student who had been able to escape them no matter how hard they had tried. The faces of kids from the previous schools I had worked at flashed through my mind. They all had sincere intentions, but in the end they were unable to change their trajectory, to escape a gang’s gravitational pull. I was skeptical that Isabella could. But I was having a hard time reconciling my experience with the young woman sitting in front of me. There was something about her, a steel to her resolve that made me want to believe she would do it.

I handed her an enrollment package and said that if she wanted to come to Summit, she needed to complete it and return it to me. She eagerly accepted it and began thumbing through the pages as I explained the process. It was pretty simple. We asked for standard information and would need a transcript from her current school. She nodded as she followed along, agreeing to complete the forms that evening and return the next day.

As she walked out the door, I made myself a bet that she wouldn’t return. I’d met too many kids who wanted a different pathway and would ask for help, only to fail to follow through.

I gladly lost the bet with myself the next morning when Isabella walked through the door. She had meticulously completed all of the forms and ordered the transcript from her school. It would take another day to get the transcript, but she wanted to get what she could to me right away. I flipped through the pages and got to the parent/guardian signature line. It was blank.

I turned to Isabella and pointed out she needed a parent or guardian signature. She looked at me with a determination I would come to know well and said, “I live with my grandmother. She gives me a place to stay. My parents are lost to drugs. I take care of myself.”

I nodded. “I understand, but then your grandmother needs to sign the form.”

Isabella returned every day that week until at last she had delivered everything required to enroll in high school. Each morning, I found myself hoping she would come back. And so, when I finally told her that she was ready to begin at Summit, I think my smile was as broad as hers. “You won’t regret this,” she promised.

Isabella turned out to be an excellent student. Her work was meticulous, her thinking clear, her writing advanced, her oral contributions compelling. She was equally strong in math and science and quickly became a peer to another student, Jamie. By all his teachers’ accounts, Jamie was gifted. Curious and hardworking, he excelled in all subjects in a way that made it seem as if learning just came naturally to him. He was a well-liked and respected member of the class, giving of his time and always willing to help others. Years later and a few days before graduation, Jamie would share how deeply he admired Isabella. He relished her as an intellectual peer, someone whom he sought out to help him think through arguments and to give feedback on his papers. What he so insightfully recognized was that he was not her peer in so many other ways. Jamie realized how fortunate he was to live with two loving parents, in a nice, upper-middle-class home, filled with love, food, books, and support. Jamie didn’t have to worry about taking care of himself. His job was to go to school, to learn, and to do well. Isabella’s life was much harder.

From the time Isabella entered Summit she had always worked at a local retail store near the school. But while in eleventh grade she came to ask if I had any ideas for where she could get a full-time job. Her grandmother’s home was a makeshift boardinghouse, and she expected Isabella to pay rent. Isabella also needed to buy her own food, clothes, and supplies.

I offered to help with the food and supplies, but Isabella didn’t want that. She simply wanted a job. And so I introduced her to a friend at a start-up technology company just down the street. The company was struggling to hire for a marketing position because it required a fluent Spanish speaker. They agreed to interview Isabella. I wanted to do more for her, but she did everything for herself. Give her a seat in the school and she will make the most of it. Introduce her to a company and she will get the job and excel at it, which is exactly what she did, working every evening after school.

One morning about six months after she started the job, Isabella stopped by my office as she arrived at school. She was carrying two backpacks instead of one. “I’m moving out of my grandmother’s house and want to give you my new address.”

I knew things weren’t good, but this seemed abrupt. I was worried. “What happened? Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’ve saved enough to get my own apartment. I can’t live at my grandmother’s anymore. It isn’t safe. I’m paying rent, but I often have to sleep on the floor in her room because she rents my space if she can. People steal my food and my things. I can’t sleep. I need to leave.”

“How can we help?” I asked, eager to meaningfully support her.

“You don’t need to do anything. I have an apartment and I’m moving today.”

“Well at least let us help you move,” I offered with a bit of desperation.

“It’s okay, Ms. Tavenner. This is all I have.” She pointed to the second backpack. “Can I leave it here and pick it up after school today?” I nodded, feeling a bit useless and incredibly guilty that everything Isabella owned fit into two backpacks.

“Oh, and Ms. Tavenner, I finally saved enough money to remove my tattoo. I’m starting the process this weekend.” She flashed the most joyful smile I’d ever seen from her.

It was the tattoo Isabella had gotten when she joined the gang she had been in. Like everything in Isabella’s life, she had independently done what was needed to get out of her gang. It was a harrowing experience, but one she took in stride. And now she was going to remove her last connection to the past she wanted no part of and embrace the future she was creating for herself.

In her senior year, Isabella was accepted to her first-choice college, Santa Clara University, on a merit scholarship to study business. Four years later she graduated, started her career, and created a loving family. She is now planning to start her own business.

To this day, I am inspired by Isabella. I draw strength from her work ethic and determination. I admire her vision, clarity, and the commitment she made to realizing it, no matter what. I aspire to have her level of independence and confidence.

To me, Isabella embodies what all kids want—to be able to live the life they want to live. To be happy, successful, and true to themselves. Like all kids I know, Isabella wanted an opportunity—not someone to save her.