This article is one of the winning submissions from the New York Post Scholars Contest, presented by Command Education.
It’s an interesting feeling.
The feeling when one’s school—a specialized high school—is nothing but the second floor and basement of a building that doesn’t even belong to it. When one’s school has barely enough money to support its community. And yet that is what 500 students feel when they walk into the Queens High School for the Sciences at York College (QHSS). 500, because that is the most amount of students that could fit.
We’ve endured for 23 years, ever since 2002.
And in those 23 years, we’ve made a name for ourselves. According to US News, in 2024, we were ranked 1st in New York High Schools. We were 25th in National Rankings. There is a 100% graduation rate, well above the state’s average. We have done so much, worked so hard, and yet when people come, fascinated, to visit our school, they will find only a tiny school building that belongs not to us, but to the college across from us—York College. They will find that we have to rent this building for hundreds of thousands of dollars each year—a huge percentage of our funding. And even though the school pays so much, we are only given the second floor and a lunchroom with a maximum occupancy of 75 students.
They will see, and then they will think that this is not even the bare minimum of what one would expect for a specialized high school of our reputation. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
Middle schools, elementary schools, and plenty of high schools have gyms in their buildings. At QHSS, located in a building that was meant for a small medical program for the college, there is obviously no gym present. Instead, the school’s students venture into the roads, rain or shine, and cross two two-way streets of cars and trucks and buses to borrow the college’s gym. Not only is this inconvenient and unnecessary for something as basic as physical education, but this can also be dangerous for students because strangers share these sidewalks too and arguably, Jamaica is not exactly considered one of the safest places in New York. And the lack of a gym is not the only area where the school’s resources fall short.
With the rent taking up so much of the school’s funding, of course there is not much left to support the students and staff. Chemistry classes, mandatory for ninth graders, take place in classrooms that never have sufficient lab materials for its classes. Half of our labs are conducted by the teacher because there are not enough materials to go around for every pair of students. There was not much use in learning about safety protocols in the lab room because most of the labs dealt with the most basic things—never any advanced chemicals. Most of us have never even seen a bunsen burner before, which would have been a common sight in schools like Bronx Science or Stuyvensant.
A gym two blocks away, no supplies for science classes, flickering lights, huge classes due to lack of teachers, an absence of lockers, no auditorium, no school buses, no kitchen—the list could go on and on. There is so much in this school that needs attention, that needs to be fixed, that can’t be fixed because no one outside the school knows what is going on. Two classrooms don’t even have windows, leaving ventilation at the mercy of doors that are constantly missing door stoppers and fans that blow only so far.
Maybe one of the most alarming effects that the funding and physical quality of the school has is the disappointment that its freshmen harbor once they are pulled into the flow of QHSS life. And because they’re disappointed, they start to leave. In a school that already has so few students, we can not afford to lose any more. But what can QHSS do? Everything the freshmen feel is justified. We don’t have sufficient funding. We don’t have as many opportunities for students. We can’t afford to give them the high school life they wanted, so they do what they can do: leave. I myself have heard of three people switching schools during the transition from my freshman to sophomore year, but there is no doubt that there were more and will be more as this year comes to a close.
But we’ve survived for 23 years. We’ve adapted. When we need a place to perform, we rent out the Jamaica Performing Arts Center. When we need indicators for labs, teachers themselves take the time to squeeze purple cabbage juice for their classes. When we go on the streets littered with strangers, we walk in large groups. We use public transportation to get to school. We have school food delivered to us. We’ve grown used to these ways, but we shouldn’t have to. QHSS students shouldn’t have to be forced to cram into two floors of a building, walk two blocks for a class, and be deprived of a high school experience while being grateful for the bare minimum. We shouldn’t.
And so when the staff heard of a school building being constructed in Hillside, of course they alerted the whole school. Thousands of emails have been sent out by the parent coordinator, “[asking] students to please send [a] letter to [high-ranking officials] in order to gain their attention and advocate for [the] school.” This new building, with its own gym and kitchen and auditorium and lights that don’t flicker and a first floor accessible to students, has been the first sliver of hope in a while to leave the terrible conditions behind. It has been the first chance to truly become what we are: a specialized high school with a beautiful, real building to match. The parent coordinator has been sending information about meetings with Queens Borough Presidents, legislative breakfasts, and a lot more opportunities to meet with high-ranking officials and persuade them to let us use this new building, because if we miss this opportunity, there is no telling how many more years we will have to tolerate this for.
For all our academic success and achievements, our school has been held back by a lack of funding and proper facilities, leaving us to make do with subpar conditions that prevent us from experiencing the high school life we deserve. We have survived 23 years in these conditions, but we cannot wait another 23 more. If we don’t act now, this opportunity for change will slip away. The building is more than just brick and mortar—it is a chance to give future students the school they deserve and were promised. Hope and resilience has gotten us so far, and this building might just be the chance to finally leave our struggles behind.
A 10th-grader at Queens High School for the Sciences at York College in Queens, Li hopes to be a physician’s assistant.