Private first class Christopher Daniels¹ towers over the four other cadets who stand in front of the flag pole. He is dressed in army green, boots tied around ankles, tight. His wild dark brown hair is tucked beneath a cover, or cap, which sits squarely on his head. Thick gray clouds dot the morning sky, leaving empty blue space for the sun to pour down onto the cracked parking lot.

“A-tiiiin-Hon!” Command Sergeant Major Webb, the vice principal, shouts to begin the morning formation. He holds the second syllable in place, allowing it to fill the air before replacing it with a staccato third syllable. Like poetry. When Webb gives a command, his 17 years of service in the Marine Corps seem to reemerge from deep within.

“On my right! About! Face!” he says, ordering the cadets on his right to turn and face the flagpole.

“On my left! About! Face!” he says, ordering the cadets to his left to do the same.

“Present! Arm!” he says, and the battalion -- all 130 cadets -- salutes the American flag while Daniels and the rest of the color guard hook the flag onto the clips and begin raising it.

When the flag reaches the top of the pole, Webb leads his battalion in the Pledge of Allegiance.

This is the way each morning begins at the Pioneer Youth Corps Military Academy, (PYCMA) where students are not sixth or seventh or twelfth graders but rather members of military-style companies, where they are not allowed to wear jeans, sweatshirts or jewelry; not permitted to wear their hair long or have facial piercings, or carry portable CD players. They are cadets in uniform, referred to by military rank, part of a quasi-military culture. Here they don’t eat in the cafeteria, they chow in the mess hall. They don’t get kicked out of school, they are DFRed (Dropped From Roll). They don’t have a gym class, they perform PT. They don’t go to a high school or a middle school, they attend a military academy.

“Parade! Rest!” Webb orders the troops to stand at ease. Hands are grasped behind backs, feet separated. Webb begins his morning ritual.

“Due to the ongoing problem of shoplifting, Amazon Market is now 86ed,” Webb shouts, pacing back and forth along the sidewalk that cuts this battalion in half, three companies on each side. “For those of you who are honest, I’m sorry. But there are some among your family, your coalition, who like to slip things into their pockets. There will be a sign on their door: ‘If you’re with PYCO, you’re not allowed in.’”

A cadet from Delta Company raises his hand. “Is this only when we’re in uniform?” he asks.

Webb turns to Alpha Company. “Cadet, how long are you in uniform?” Webb asks.

The cadet from Alpha responds, along with several other members of the battalion: “Twenty-four/seven -- three sixty-five, Sergeant Major!” They shout out, in cadence.

PYCMA is not a private military academy but rather a public charter school. Enrolling is a choice, but for many of the students who attend it is not a true choice. It is a choice presented to them by default because the programs at the traditional public schools were not successfully reaching them or because they have been kicked out of every place else. Private Hasper, Golf Company, was teased everyday in public school; her classmates called her fat and ugly. She flunked all her classes. Private Latch, Alpha Company, was caught selling weed on school grounds. Private Deklowitz, Alpha Company, was expelled for punching another kid in the face. Private Trevell, Charley Company, claims she enrolled to gain more discipline, but then she will lean in close and whisper that she knows she’s in the right school because God told her so. Private first class Daniels, Alpha Company, was angry and aggressive in the classroom.

Webb continues: “The staff can’t even go over there. Now the next step, you’ll lose Dunkin’. Keep cutting your own throats. I don’t care. It makes my job a lot easier.”

Webb again gives the command for the battalion to stand at attention.

“Let’s get this day going,” he says before dismissing the cadets. This is not a suggestion; this is an order.