Rising From the Ashes

The worst of this year’s fires was the Camp Fire—named for Camp Creek Road in Butte County, where it started—which killed at least 88 people and destroyed more than 18,000 buildings in Paradise and neighboring towns. In the months since the blaze, those who fled have urgently searched for housing and normalcy, many still reeling from nightmares of the flames. The burden is particularly acute for Paradise High’s Class of 2019—240 seniors whose post-graduation plans have been derailed by more pressing challenges.

For Gabe, hanging over his current circumstances is an even bigger worry: how to pay for college. As captain of the track team whose season ended at a state meet a few weeks after the fire, he had hoped for an athletic scholarship. But with no track nearby to improve his running times, he fears that his best-laid plans may also fall victim to the wildfire.

The worst of this year’s fires was the Camp Fire. This wildfire was named for Camp Creek Road in Butte County, where it started. It killed at least 88 people and destroyed more than 18,000 buildings in Paradise and neighboring towns. In the months since the blaze, those who fled have urgently searched for housing and normalcy. Many are still troubled by nightmares of the flames. The burden is particularly overwhelming for Paradise High’s Class of 2019. These 240 seniors’ post-graduation plans have been derailed by more pressing challenges.

For Gabe, hanging over his current circumstances is an even bigger worry: how to pay for college. He was captain of the track team whose season ended at a state meet a few weeks after the fire. He had hoped for an athletic scholarship. But with no track nearby to improve his running times, he fears that his best-laid plans may also fall victim to the wildfire.

“It’s not just me,” he says. “My entire grade is having to rethink our futures.”

A tight-knit community that was already struggling economically—67 percent of Paradise High students qualify for free or reduced lunch—has been pushed closer to the edge.

“These kids’ entire foundation has been wiped away,” says Lowell Forward, an engineering teacher at Paradise High, from the mall’s improvised school in Chico, about 13 miles west of the former campus. With so little room in the former LensCrafters, students spill out into the mall’s food court, where there’s Wi-Fi. They hunch over laptops and try to tune out the shrieks of small children playing nearby.

“It’s not just that their house burned down or their parents lost their jobs,” Forward says. “The seniors were expecting a step-by-step preparation for graduation and beyond, and now that’s all up in the air.”

“It’s not just me,” he says. “My entire grade is having to rethink our futures.”

Paradise was already struggling economically. About 67 percent of Paradise High students qualify for free or reduced lunch. The wildfire just pushed the tight-knit community closer to the edge.

“These kids’ entire foundation has been wiped away,” says Lowell Forward, an engineering teacher at Paradise High, from the mall’s improvised school in Chico, about 13 miles west of the former campus. With so little room in the former LensCrafters, students spill out into the mall’s food court, where there’s Wi-Fi. They hunch over laptops and try to tune out the sound of small children playing nearby. 

“It’s not just that their house burned down or their parents lost their jobs,” Forward says. “The seniors were expecting a step-by-step preparation for graduation and beyond, and now that’s all up in the air.”

Although the school district is offering tutoring at the mall and has provided its students with laptops, backpacks, and school supplies to replace what they lost in the wildfire, many don’t have access to the internet from their temporary housing. Some don’t even have running water. Yet another challenge: the ticking clock of college application deadlines, which many students, like Elie Wyllie, have already missed.

Elie, 17, grew up in Paradise “way below the poverty line,” she says. Problems at home motivated her to get stellar grades. Her zeal for perfection made her Paradise High’s top tennis player and earned her the nickname The Comeback. She dreamed of becoming a cardiothoracic surgeon, believing that college was the sole path to changing her family’s fortunes.

Elie was in the midst of applying to a dozen colleges, including Yale, when the inferno reduced her home to ashes. California state schools extended their application deadlines, but she still doesn’t have all the paperwork they require.

“Everything is crashing down,” she says. “Now I’ll be the only person in my family to have a future. They’re going to expect me to take care of them when I can barely take care of myself.”

The school district is offering tutoring at the mall. It’s also provided students with laptops, backpacks, and school supplies to replace what they lost in the wildfire. Still, many don’t have access to the internet from their temporary housing. Some don’t even have running water. Yet another challenge: the ticking clock of college application deadlines. Many students, like Elie Wyllie, have already missed these due dates.

Elie, 17, grew up in Paradise “way below the poverty line,” she says. Problems at home motivated her to get stellar grades. Her zeal for perfection made her Paradise High’s top tennis player and earned her the nickname The Comeback. She believed that college was the sole path to changing her family’s fortunes. It was her dream to ultimately become a cardiothoracic surgeon.

Elie was in the middle of applying to a dozen colleges, including Yale, when the inferno reduced her home to ashes. California state schools extended their application deadlines. But she still doesn’t have all the paperwork they require.

“Everything is crashing down,” she says. “Now I’ll be the only person in my family to have a future. They’re going to expect me to take care of them when I can barely take care of myself.”

Overwhelmed, Elie says she’s temporarily moved in with her A.P. history teacher. It’s the only way she can do her homework and complete college applications, she says.

“The Camp Fire tore up more than just my town—it took away my peace of mind,” she says. “Everything for the rest of my life is going to be affected by this.”

At a recent college seminar at a Chico hotel, volunteers helped students fill out applications and financial aid forms. The event highlighted the challenges
of planning ahead.

“These kids want to put down an address for a house that no longer stands,” says Elizabeth Stone, an independent college consultant who organized the seminar.

With her house untouched by the fire, Julionna Keers is luckier than most of her classmates at Paradise High. She lived in Magalia, a town up the road from Paradise. Magalia escaped heavy damage but was completely evacuated by authorities. In the ensuing chaos, Julionna missed the S.A.T. in December. It was the final scheduled exam that the California State University System allowed for applicants.

Julionna has a part-time job. For now, she’s focused on more immediate issues, like helping her parents pay for their weeks-long hotel bill, which their home insurance does not cover.

“My mind’s always been on school, but now it’s making sure my family is going to be OK,” she says.

Julionna has also suffered from survivor’s guilt. In response, she’s busied herself by trying to help less fortunate friends. Last Friday night, she drove to a suburb of Sacramento, where the Del Oro High School had turned its state division championship football game into a fundraiser for two of her classmates.

One of the students was Kaleb Nelson, a Paradise High football player and wrestler. He was given a new generator, gift cards, and enough donations to buy a used pickup truck. 

About a month earlier, a neighbor had pounded on Kaleb’s front door, screaming about the approaching wildfire. He ran barefoot toward his pickup truck with his girlfriend, Adrianna Marciella Orozco. The two of them inched along in traffic past woods covered in flames. His truck broke down shortly after they moved into his uncle’s trailer, which is parked on a Chico street. The trailer lacks electricity and running water.

Adrianna, 17, says she can’t forget the inferno that killed her four dogs and made her family homeless. Plagued by flashbacks of the burning heat on her skin, she’s rethinking her life after graduation. She initially had planned to attend a community college near Paradise. Now she’s considering a school in Arizona surrounded by desert.

“It’s too traumatizing,” she says, “to be around trees.”

Dan Levin covers youth issues for The New York Times.