Quinaia Hendricks is a lanky girl with lanky hair that shines like a raven's wing, as straight and pretty as Cleopatra's favorite style. At 15, she's about the size of a sixth-grader - no threat to the weakest wimp on the beach.

But she has been fighting since she started school. "At every school I went to, I was expelled or suspended,'' she said.

She was finally kicked out of Woodward High School - which is like being thrown out of the toughest biker bar in town. "I can't do regular high school,'' she said. "I could never go back.''

She's still fighting. But now she's fighting for herself. And here's the most amazing thing she said in our brief conversation: "I'm going to college.''

This sounds as routine as "I'm going to rake the leaves'' in most suburban homes. But in the world inhabited by students at Dohn High School on East McMillan in East Walnut Hills, it's as unlikely as an algebra textbook at a crack party.

Dohn is the last stop, last chance, last hope charter school for the hard cases other schools gave up on long ago. All 56 students have been hurt by drugs - as users or as collateral-damage victims of substance abuse in their families.

The typical student that comes to Dohn from Hamilton, Clermont or Butler County has been expelled and considers it a welcome invitation to the dropout party. Many have emotional problems and learning disabilities and can't pass a proficiency test with both feet on the accelerator and a push from behind. Three-quarters know poverty as a permanent houseguest.

"There is no safety net for these kids,'' says Superintendent Kate Bower. "We're it.''

When Randy Midell, 18, dropped out of Western Hills, he was smoking pot and ditching classes. Now he's clean. "No drugs,'' he said.

Students at Dohn take drug tests to stay clean, and must work or do 10 hours a week of community service.

Midell said he's going to college. So did Whitney Simmonds, 17, of Amelia, who was kicked out of school for fighting with the principal and staff. And so did Mikale Robinson, 17, who says he was learning nothing in Cincinnati Public Schools.

"My teacher wasn't helping me at all,'' he said.

These students at Dohn are exiles and refugees from a war zone of violence, drug abuse and painful indifference - at home and at school.

Their safe refuge is a homely, gray brick shoebox purchased from the Cincinnati district for $25,000, including furniture. Just six part-time and three full-time staffers, including Bower, provide counseling and instruction. "It's such a small school, you can't fall through the cracks,'' Bower says.

The students say it's like a family.

There are many in Ohio who want charter schools like Dohn to fail. Teacher unions never miss a chance to heap criticism on charter schools that are struggling under a load of state regulations, with about half as much state and local aid.

Dohn gets $5,000 per pupil, to provide classes and counseling that cost $13,000, Bower said. Grants help close the gap, but they still need a $300,000 assist.

If you can offer time or money, call 513-281-6100.

Without Dohn, nobody will help students like Quinaia fight their way out of the dead-end street called Failure.

E-mail pbronson@enquirer.com or call 768-8301.