Monica Yant Kinney: Fighting for the education she cannot live without

In the emotionally raw new documentary, Waiting for "Superman," poor parents fed up with failing schools willingly take on debt and excruciating commutes to get a quality education for their children.

North Philadelphia's 18-year-old Jalesaa Figueroa hasn't seen the movie. If she had an extra $7.50, she'd put it toward her tuition at Little Flower, the beloved all-girls Catholic school in nearby Hunting Park.

Figueroa and her grandmother Damaris Martinez live in a rowhouse they nearly lost to foreclosure, surviving on food stamps and $801 a month in Social Security.

"Worldly stuff we don't need," preaches Martinez, a 54-year-old disabled former office worker, "but education we cannot live without."

For three years, they managed to cover a third of Figueroa's $6,000 annual tuition. When Martinez came up short on cash last summer, her granddaughter faced spending her pivotal senior year at Edison, Olney East, or Olney West, three of the city's most dangerous and chronically underperforming public high schools.

"I get teased a lot because of my weight, and the last time I was in public school I had thoughts of suicide," Figueroa confides. "I couldn't go back to that. I couldn't go to a school where I wouldn't be taught."

So the resourceful young woman known for her angelic singing voice seized control of her educational fate and threw a fund-raiser.

And soon, as graduation looms, she'll stage another.

We meet after school, Figueroa still in her uniform and saddle shoes, lugging an Elmo backpack. Martinez offers me hot tea as her granddaughter begins a tale of miseducation and reclamation.

Figueroa has fond memories of Bayard Taylor Elementary, but spite for her time at Roberto Clemente Middle School. As the Superman documentary points out, sixth grade often hastens inner-city students' academic demise.

"I was passing with Fs in math. I was taunted so much for my appearance," she says, straightening her skirt. "I got sent to the counselor after my teacher found suicidal notes I wrote."

The family has deep roots at St. Malachy Catholic Church, near Temple University. When a suburban parishioner offered to sponsor Jalesaa at the church school, the 11-year-old agreed to repeat sixth grade even though getting there took 45 minutes on two buses.

"It was rough. I needed so much help. Everything I thought I knew I didn't," Figueroa admits. "But at St. Malachy, the teachers actually taught. They cared."

Sister Cecile Reiley admired the newcomer's resolve. "She worked hard. She had to trim her sails."

After eighth grade, Martinez vowed to keep Figueroa on an upward trajectory. "I love my community and my people," the grandmother says, "but there's so much disrespect in the public schools. I wanted more for Jalesaa."

She found it at Little Flower. But after three years of frugality and financial aid, Martinez could no longer cover their fair share.

"Please come out and join us for a dinner & music event to help Jalesaa with her senior year tuition," read the flier Figueroa posted around town. "No dress code - come as you are."

Those who couldn't attend were asked to consider sending a check to her delinquent school account.

Turnout was light, but Figueroa still sang her heart out: She performed "Listen" from Dreamgirls and dedicated Mariah Carey's "Hero" to her grandmother - who sent guests home with plates of home-cooked Puerto Rican food.

The fund-raiser netted just $240. Figueroa delivered the money to school, praying she could register while in arrears. The teen was stunned by what she heard.

"They told me $2,130 worth of checks had come in for me! One was anonymous, for $1,000. Half the people who gave were people I'd never met who saw my fliers."

Sister Donna Shallo, Little Flower's president, knows nothing of Figueroa's feat until I call, but isn't surprised by the motivation.

"The girls call this their second home," Shallo says. "It's a sisterhood. She's had a taste and doesn't want to lose it."

Figueroa's struggles aren't over. Every discussion about college reverts to figuring out how to pay for, even enjoy, her final semester of high school. She may be mature for her age, but she desperately wants to attend the prom and dreams of wearing a class ring.

"I'm planning another fund-raiser," she declares. "I think I need about $3,000 to finish the year."

Make that $3,035. Given how hard Figueroa fought for her spot in Little Flower's Class of 2011, "I really want to get a yearbook."