It was the moment I had been anticipating the whole school year: receiving my high school admissions letter. I ripped open the white envelope that my teacher had handed to me.
As I read the name of the school where I would be spending the next four years, my heart dropped. I had never even heard of the school, though I would later learn my mom had included it third among my selections.
My teacher must have noticed a shift in my demeanor because he tried to assure me that the school I was matched with did not define me. He meant well and was right, but his words weren’t reaching me.
New York City’s high school admissions process is famously complicated — so complicated, in fact, that the man who designed the system that now matches some 70,000 eighth graders to about 700 programs across 400 public high schools went on to win a Nobel Prize in economics.
For the roughly 120 public high schools that use a screening process, a student’s grades from seventh grade are used to place applicants into priority groups. Some schools require some combination of essays, interviews, auditions, and portfolio reviews, too. Students also receive a lottery number that can determine whether they get a particular school’s offer. Making sense of it all is a lot to ask of a 13-year-old.
The day before my high school applications were due on MySchools, the city’s portal, an administrator at my school told me that I hadn’t officially submitted my applications, even though I thought I had. This sums up my initial experience navigating the public high school admissions process: confusing.
When I imagined what high school would be like, I envisioned walking with friends down the stairs in pretty outfits that I picked out. I pictured myself running around Manhattan during lunchtime and group study sessions at cafés. I wanted to take rigorous classes, especially in the humanities, because I already knew that I wanted to be a lawyer.
I had an idealistic view of high school that mirrored those in books and movies. I imagined the type of schools that had exchange programs and funding for unique classes. It didn’t quite register with me that most public schools don’t have those programs and resources.
Looking back now, a number of factors could have contributed to my high school placement. I blamed my middle school for allowing me to be so clueless about the whole admissions process. I blamed my parents, who had offered limited help and thought that any high school that was safe and close would do. My oldest sister attended a local school, and my middle sister went to a screened school but managed the application process largely on her own.
And, of course, I blamed myself. After hearing from other students, I realized that my middle school wasn’t unique in how it prepared students for high school admissions. Many other eighth graders rose above it. I should have done more research, I told myself. I shouldn’t have focused so much on a handful of highly competitive schools and disregarded others. I should have studied harder in middle school. I should have applied to more private schools that could have offered scholarships.
Regardless of my regrets, I would be going to the school whose name was bolded on my acceptance letter. And as my first day of high school approached, I resolved to make the best of this next phase of life. Growing up, I had always looked forward to the first day of school.
On Day 1, I dressed in my new school’s gym uniform, only to be informed as I walked through the door that wearing sporty attire outside of P.E. class was against the school dress code. It wasn’t the best way to start the school year, but I took it in stride.
I was looking forward to joining the debate club and taking challenging classes as an underclassman. But I would soon find out that the school had very few clubs — none of which I was interested in joining — and the courses offered there weren’t as challenging as I wanted them to be.
Then there was my commute home every afternoon. The M10 bus, which was at the end of the long block, came almost immediately after school ended, so I had to run to make it. When I missed it, the next bus was consistently filled with loud kids playing music. I yearned for quiet after a long school day, and the ride on the later bus always irked my soul. Perhaps if I had been at a school that was a better match for me, my commute wouldn’t have been a tipping point. But it was during one of those noisy bus rides that I decided I would try to transfer for sophomore year.
I focused on my grades and started researching transfer opportunities. I also registered to take the SHSAT, the admissions test that eight specialized high schools in New York City schools use. I frequently dropped by the counseling office to ask about enriching my applications. Lunch periods were often spent flipping through the giant book of high schools that the city’s education department publishes. My options, I realized, would be very limited as a 10th grade applicant. Most competitive schools that had what I was looking for did not have additional sophomore seats.
I began submitting applications for screened high schools that aren’t specialized. Meanwhile, I studied for the SHSAT. Some students spend years of their lives and thousands of dollars preparing for the exam, but I didn’t have that time or money, so I wasn’t particularly optimistic. And as soon as I finished the test, I had a feeling that I did poorly.
I held out hope that I would get a seat at another, non-specialized high school, but when the admissions decisions came out in March of my freshman year, I did not get any offers. I was waitlisted at one school, but when I emailed to find out my chances of getting in, they told me I was too far down the list to be admitted.
As my freshman year came to an end, I had given up on finding another school. All of my plans for the next few years would have to be reworked. It was devastating.
One of my older sisters, who had seen all of the work I had been putting into my transfer applications, insisted that it wasn’t over until it was over. She said I needed to have more faith in myself for things to change. That simple advice pushed me to call a Family Welcome Center, which oversees transfers, to find out which high schools still had seats open. I sent formal emails to a few heads of admissions and attached my transcript. Then, I waited.
In response to those emails, I read through rejection after rejection until the last school to respond told me they had a spot. Within a few days, my mom and I had talked on the phone with the head of admissions, and I had done a short Zoom interview. Before it was official, I had to get approval from the local Family Welcome Center. [Education department officials told Chalkbeat that Family Welcome Centers typically provide referral letters to screened schools before students contact them.]
When my mom and I arrived at the welcome center to put in the transfer request, there was a line of students and their parents also waiting for approval to change schools. As we waited, I was anxious — pessimistic even — about my chances of getting the transfer approved. Then, I remembered my sister’s advice and tried to calm my nerves.
When I finally received the transfer, I sent an image of the document to the head of admissions. I was in. At that moment, I felt free from all the doubt and negative feelings that had been with me for most of the past year. I did it. I had achieved my goal.
The new school has proved to be a much better fit for me. It’s definitely not the picture-perfect vision I had of high school, and a lot of people who’ve been here for a while complain about it — that happens at every school — but it offers a lot of opportunities I wouldn’t have otherwise had. I like how students here can take free, for-credit Columbia University classes, and I plan to take one next fall. I also like how the guidance counselor posts and updates a list of internship and program opportunities throughout the year. The academically challenging environment inspires me to work harder.
Looking back, I’m grateful that I pushed through. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing debate or running a fully funded Muslim Student Association, which I founded this fall. I want people to know that they don’t have to resign themselves to a situation that doesn’t feel right. There’s power in persistence. At any point in this process, I could have given in to doubt and decided to give up on the idea of transferring. Instead, I kept going — refusing to stay where I wasn’t happy.
Awa Sangare is a member of Chalkbeat’s 2024-25 Student Voices Fellowship class. She is a high school junior who enjoys nuanced discussions, literature, and history. Awa started a Muslim Student Association at her school in an effort to explore her own religious identity and provide a safe space for Muslims to express their thoughts. She hopes to study English and history in college.