EVERETT — It was almost lunchtime Wednesday, and Eddie Mulcahy’s heart had not been broken.

His first period class had flown by. During second period gym, Mulcahy’s students dribbled and passed the basketball without stumbling over one another or picking a fight.

"Don’t get lazy," Mulcahy, 25, bellowed good-naturedly at the eight teenage boys who, after an hour’s workout, walked off the court dabbing at the sweat with the hems of their black jerseys.

Mulcahy is one of 11 teachers at Northwest Regional Learning Center in Everett, funded by the state’s Educational District Services.

Most of the school’s 60 students — 50 boys and 10 girls, 14 of them minorities — have had a brush with the law. Some are on probation or parole. Others spend their weekends in juvenile detention under court order.

As lunch approached, Sally Appa, the cook at the Everett school, put out fresh-baked pizza, Tater Tots and gallon jugs of fruit punch for the kids. Mulcahy was optimistic.

It was beginning to look like the second-year teacher might make it through the final 2 o’ clock bell with his heart intact.

No one had "blown out" that day — the term students and teachers use to describe a kid who reoffends and whose next stop is a state juvenile facility and full-time lockup.

Something good happened, too. After lunch, Swinton, absent for two days, showed up for class.

"Hey, Swinton’s here," teacher Charlie Davies boomed when he caught sight of the 15-year-old in the hall.

"Glad you’re here, buddy, " said Davies, patting him on the back.

Last outpost

The Northwest Regional Learning Center’s students come from Snohomish County’s 13 school districts. Because of their court records, many are no longer welcome in their old schools.

The alternative school is the last outpost for many youths who have burned their bridges in the public school system, said Melanie Shafaat, director of the learning center.

In the past, alternative programs mostly warehoused kids, she said.

But Shafaat will have none of it.

"We’re saying no," she said. "These kids have had years of frustration and failure. You couple that with a criminal history and you’re looking at a downward spiral. We’re here to stop it.

"Ninety-five percent of the kids are drug-involved; 100 percent are sexually active. Three of the girls are pregnant," Shafaat said. "And I must have five fathers here, as young as 15."

"We all talk about our babies," said Hunter, 17, of Snohomish. "This is my third year. I’m graduating," she added proudly.

Almost all students say they could not endure a full day at a regular school, "Our kids have seen it all," Mulcahy said.

Whether it was the rigors of the classroom or the halls filled with cheerleaders and honor students, attending regular school made them slink back to the streets, they said.

Kris, 16, a fair-haired girl in a pink sweater, dropped out of school for six months. "I got in some trouble," she said softly.

Christopher, 16, admitted, "I was expelled for picking on other kids. The teachers here help you stay out of trouble."

Last year, 12 students earned their high school diplomas from the learning center — twice the number as the previous year.

The graduates’ photographs are pinned to bulletin boards in the break room. Looking strikingly adult in their black gowns and mortarboards, all 12 are beaming.

‘Land of misfit toys’

Shafaat calls the school a jumble of classrooms in a former two-story office building in downtown Everett, the "land of misfit toys."

Misfits, but not mistakes, she said.

Inside the classrooms, student artworks and history timelines are displayed prominently alongside handwritten posters, there to remind kids of "How to deal with false accusations," "Understanding the feelings of others," "Making a complaint."

Mulcahy’s gym class doubles as an anger-management class. Shooting hoops, choosing up sides, gives the kids practice curbing their tempers, Mulcahy said.

Dustin, 17, Aaron, 15, and Kris, 16, say the school has given them hope.

Aaron has turned himself around.

Dustin is on track to graduate.

Kris is writing and editing the school’s monthly newsletter.

To keep the kids coming back, rules are bent. An antsy kid who needs to go home early is excused from class. After school, the smokers step outside for a cigarette without having to hear a lecture.

Despite the allowances, "Some kids we never reach," Mulcahy said. "Your heart is broken every day. It’s the success stories that make us come back."

Wednesday, there were no broken hearts.

It was a good day, Mulcahy reflected.

Recently, one of the students designed a school logo, said Shafaat, a brilliant image of the mythical bird that is consumed by flames and yet wills its rebirth — "Phoenix rising out of the ashes."

Reporter Janice Podsada: 425-339-3029 or podsada@heraldnet.com.