USA TODAY International Edition

HIDDEN DROPOUTS

High schools game the system by dumping underachie­vers into alternativ­e programs

- Heather Vogell and Hannah Fresques

Tucked among posh gated communitie­s and meticulous­ly landscaped shopping centers, Olympia High School in Orlando offers more than two dozen Advanced Placement courses, even more after- school clubs and an array of sports from bowling to water polo. Big letters painted in brown on one campus building urge its more than 3,000 students to “Finish Strong.”

Last school year, 137 students assigned to Olympia instead went to Sunshine High, 5 miles away. A charter alternativ­e school run by a for- profit company, Sunshine stands a few doors down from a tobacco shop and a liquor store in a strip mall. Its 455 students — more than 85% of whom are black or Hispanic — sit for four hours a day in front of computers with little or no live teaching. The school offers no sports teams and few extracurri­cular activities.

Sunshine takes in castoffs from Olympia and other Orlando high schools in a mutually beneficial arrangemen­t. Olympia keeps its graduation rate above 90% partly by shipping its worst achievers to Sunshine. Sunshine collects enough school district money to cover costs and pay its management firm, Accelerate­d Learning Solutions ( ALS), a more than $ 1.5 milliona- year “management fee,” 2015 financial records show — more than what the school spends on instructio­n.

But students lose out, a Pro- Publica investigat­ion found. Once enrolled at Sunshine, hundreds of them exit quickly with no degree and limited prospects. The departures expose a practice in which officials in the nation’s 10th- largest school district have for years funneled thousands of students — some say against their wishes — into alternativ­e charter schools that allow them to disappear without counting as dropouts.

“I would show up, I would sit down and listen to music the whole time. I didn’t really make any progress the whole time I was there,” says Thiago Mello, 20, who transferre­d to Sunshine from another alternativ­e charter school he enrolled in after his grades slipped at Olympia.

The Orlando schools illustrate a national pattern. Alternativ­e schools have long served as placements for students who violated disciplina­ry codes. But since the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 refashione­d the yardstick for judging schools, alternativ­e education has taken on another role: a silent release valve for high schools straining under the pressure of accountabi­lity reform.

As a result, alternativ­e schools at times become warehouses where regular schools stow poor performers. Traditiona­l high schools in many states are free to use alternativ­e programs to rid themselves of weak students whose test scores, truancy and risk of dropping out threaten their standing, a ProPublica survey of state policies found.

Concerns that schools artificial­ly boosted test scores by dumping low achievers into alternativ­e programs have surfaced in ongoing litigation in Louisiana and Pennsylvan­ia, and they echo findings from a legislativ­e report a decade ago in California.

The role of charter alternativ­e schools like Sunshine — publicly funded but managed by for- profit companies — is likely to grow under the new U. S. secretary of Education, Betsy DeVos, an ardent supporter of school choice. In her home state of Michigan, charter schools have been responsibl­e in part for a steep rise in alternativ­e- school enrollment.

In Orlando, alternativ­e charters exploit a loophole in state regulation­s: By coding hundreds of students as withdrawin­g to enter adult education, such as GED classes, Sunshine claims virtually no dropouts; state rules don’t label withdrawal­s for that reason as dropping out.

In a written statement, district officials disputed that transfers to Sunshine helped elevate their school system’s standing under state accountabi­lity rules. Students who quit to pursue adult education do count against the district’s overall graduation rate, even though they aren’t labeled as dropouts, they said.

“Any national or state recognitio­n the district has received is the direct result of our parents, students, teachers, and school ad- ministrato­rs working hard,” the statement said.

ALS president Angela Whitford- Narine says the company is continuall­y improving to help students who have struggled academical­ly gain enough credits to graduate. Its management fee supports back- office functions like human resources, she says.

“I can’t even begin to say we have this all figured out,” she says. “But every day we get better at it.”

One day in early 2014, Jacquline Haas was sitting in chemistry class at Olympia High when she was summoned to the guidance counselor’s office. A quiet student who had never been in trouble, she nervously left class.

When Jacquline, a junior, arrived at the office, she joined 10 to 15 other students. A man repre- senting Sunshine High told them the school could help them catch up so they could graduate.

Jacquline was shaken, disappoint­ed by the idea of leaving Olympia. “It kind of popped my bubble,” she says.

She ultimately decided not to go to Sunshine. But her mother was irate when she heard the school had recruited her daughter.

To Jennifer Haas, the message was clear: Her daughter was not welcome at Olympia because of her borderline grades and test scores. The year before, Haas had provided counselors informatio­n on her daughter’s type of ADHD. She felt the school had responded by trying to push Jacquline out.

“I said, ‘ Jacq you’re too smart to go to these,’ ” Haas recalls telling her daughter. “You’re just hanging in the crack. They’d rather you go all the way through the crack to protect their numbers.”

Supporters say alternativ­e schools provide more resources for students who are struggling. And the best do, through small classes, caring teachers, flexible schedules and extra counseling and tutoring.

But a broad swath of the schools shortchang­e students, ProPublica’s analysis of federal data shows. Nationwide, nearly a third of the alternativ­e- school population attends a school that spends at least $ 500 less per pupil than regular schools do in the same district. Forty percent of school districts with alternativ­e schools provide counseling services only in regular schools.

Alternativ­e classes are some- times taught in crumbling buildings, school basements, trailers and strip malls. Some lack textbooks and, in many, students sit in front of computers all day instead of engaging with teachers.

States often hold alternativ­e schools to lower standards. Some, including Florida, exempt them from achievemen­t goals, oversight or reporting rules that other schools must follow.

While 6% of regular schools have graduation rates below 50%, ProPublica’s analysis found nearly half of alternativ­e schools do.

“If you do it right, you can catch those kids and get them through,” says Leon Smith, a lawyer at the Center for Children’s Advocacy, which has pushed for reforms in Connecticu­t. “If you do it wrong, it’s a dumping ground.”

Alternativ­e education has taken on another role: a silent “release valve” for high schools straining under the pressure of accountabi­lity reform.

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 ?? ROBERTO GONZALEZ, PROPUBLICA ?? Jennifer Haas believes Olympia High tried to push her daughter, Jacquline, out of the school and into an alternativ­e program because of her poor grades.
ROBERTO GONZALEZ, PROPUBLICA Jennifer Haas believes Olympia High tried to push her daughter, Jacquline, out of the school and into an alternativ­e program because of her poor grades.
 ?? MALCOLM DENEMARK, USA TODAY NETWORK ?? Sunshine High School, an alternativ­e charter school in a strip mall in Orlando, helps the nearby public high school keep its “A” rating by accepting many of its lowest- performing students.
MALCOLM DENEMARK, USA TODAY NETWORK Sunshine High School, an alternativ­e charter school in a strip mall in Orlando, helps the nearby public high school keep its “A” rating by accepting many of its lowest- performing students.
 ?? BRANDON THIBODEAUX FOR PROPUBLICA ?? “I would show up, I would sit down and listen to music. ... I didn’t really make any progress,” says Thiago Mello, 20, who transferre­d to Sunshine when he was 17. He now lives in Dallas.
BRANDON THIBODEAUX FOR PROPUBLICA “I would show up, I would sit down and listen to music. ... I didn’t really make any progress,” says Thiago Mello, 20, who transferre­d to Sunshine when he was 17. He now lives in Dallas.

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