Avery Colvert was an eighth-grader when the Eaton Fire tore through Altadena, California, a year ago this month, reddening the sky and destroying nearly 10,000 structures. It was the second natural disaster she’d survived; she was just 14 years old. Her family had lost their home in Nashville, Tennessee, to a flash flood in 2021, before they moved west. 

This time, the catastrophe spared her house, but consumed her school. Familiar with the psychological toll such devastation can take, Avery posted an , which burned for over three weeks. She asked for items to help her “friends feel confident and like themselves again!” — “clothes, personal items, beauty and hair care — stuff WE need.”&�Բ�����;

The plea, posted just three days after the fire broke out on January 7, 2025, quickly went viral. It has since garnered over 28,000 likes; earned support from celebrities such as Paris Hilton, Charli XCX and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex; and led to the creation of the nonprofit, an organization that, Avery said, gives girls permission to ask for what they need without apology. 

“I always hear teenage girls say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ like they feel they need to apologize for asking for too much,” Avery, 15, now a ninth grader, said. “At the beginning [of recovery], there was a lot of stigma around asking for help. Girls, after they lost their homes, they felt like it was embarrassing.”

But they don’t need to apologize or feel embarrassed — for asking for help or stating their preferences, Avery said. “It’s OK to say, ‘I like this sweater instead of that one.’ Girls are allowed to have opinions.”

Avery founded Altadena Girls with her mother, Lauren Sandidge. Sandidge said that no one seemed to be focusing on the teen girl experience in the wake of the wildfire, which occurred in tandem with the massive Palisades Fire 30 miles away in Los Angeles. Through a pop-up boutique, Altadena Girls has supplied clothing, shoes, beauty products and hair care to more than 5,000 girls and their families. The organization has distributed more than a million items in total. Last year, it hosted a prom for over 300 girls, and it also provided back-to-school supplies and social-emotional support for 500 more. 

In October, Altadena Girls celebrated a major milestone: It opened an 11,000-square-foot community center offering free programming in nearby Old Town Pasadena. 

What began as a social media request for donations turned into a movement that revealed how inclusive disaster recovery can be when girls are centered rather than marginalized.

Avery didn’t write her viral post with an endgame in mind. 

“I don’t even know what I was thinking,” she said. “I was going through so many emotions at the time that my body just kind of went into fight-or-flight mode. It was like, ‘I’m just going to do this, and this needs to be done right now.’”

Twenty-four hours after her post appeared on Instagram, donations began pouring in, as well as offers for help from stylists, makeup artists and fashion designers. Many of these professionals didn’t just give away products. They also volunteered their time and labor to the fire-impacted girls. 

Sandidge recalled kneeling over, sorting through boxes of donations. “Every time I looked up, there was someone with more donations,” she said. “And then they would stay. They could tell I was overwhelmed, and they would just stay.”

Woven through Altadena Girls is this sense of community. The organization is more than just about distributing goods to teen girls in need. It’s about creating a space where they feel supported. Sandidge said her own family — she also has a son — felt stabilized by this as the wildfire left them uncertain.

“It got us through those moments where we didn’t know what was going to happen,” she said. “The fires were still burning. Everyone felt that way.”

Through its permanent brick-and-mortar space, which opened on October 11, 2025 — International Day of the Girl — the hope is that Altadena Girls can continue bringing the community together. 

“It was really cool, really exciting,” Avery said. “I still can’t believe we did it.”

The center includes music and podcast studios sponsored by Fender; quiet rooms for studying, journaling or one-on-one conversations; a free boutique offering hygiene products, clothing and school supplies; and a gathering area for community events.

The most popular space is the Sliving Lounge, a glittery pink room of nearly 1,000 square feet filled with collaging stations, Polaroid cameras, karaoke, movies, books and vision boards. The name of the space, sponsored by Paris Hilton and her nonprofit, 11:11 Media, is a portmanteau of the words “slay” and “living.”&�Բ�����; 

“It’s definitely our most popular thing,” Avery said. “Everyone ends up there.”

Avery wanted it “to feel like a girly explosion,” she said. “And they delivered.”

Journey Christine, a 12-year-old actress who lives a block away from the Altadena Girls community center, said she visits most weekends. She called the center “a blessing” to Altadena and Pasadena, parts of which the fire also ravaged. “It’s like my new home away from home,” she said. 

Altadena Girls’ dance workshops — run in partnership with Dance and Dialogue, a non-profit organization that provides intergenerational, multicultural programming — are especially meaningful to Avery. A dancer herself, she has watched girls return to dance night after night.

“I’ve seen them grow. They got really good,” she said. “Dancing is so healing for me, and I’m glad other people get to discover that.”

Youth are not required to participate in any activity to spend time at the community center. “You can come in and learn guitar,” Sandidge said, but the priority is that their basic needs are met —  they’re fed, they’re safe, they’re relaxed. “That’s when people can make good decisions.”

After the fire, Journey has grappled with having classmates, steady presences in her life, move to different neighborhoods and communities. At Altadena Girls, she has been able to catch up with peers who relocated. 

“There are still people who haven’t moved back yet,” Sandidge said. “There are emotional needs that don’t go away just because the headlines do.”

Avery believes the fire didn’t just create new needs. It exposed existing ones, such as a lack of “a third space” for teen girls to meet during the digital age, with phones and social media replacing physical gathering spaces. “For some teenagers, the internet is their third space,” she said. “But I think it’s important that we have a physical space that’s accessible to everyone.”

That Avery’s advocacy led to the center’s creation has felt empowering for Journey. “It’s really inspiring,” the seventh grader said. “It shows other kids that just because you’re young doesn’t mean you can’t make a difference.”

Avery’s belief that dignity is a core component of recovery has led to national recognition. She became the youngest winner of the , and Senate District 25 named Altadena Girls . At the 10th Hollywood Beauty Awards, which recognizes the artistry that influences beauty in film, television and on red carpets, she received . 

Avery’s request for beauty and hair care resonated on a profound level.

“She wanted to give something that wasn’t just socks and T-shirts,” said Pamela Price, the awards’ senior executive producer. “She wanted to give girls something that brought a little happiness during an uncertain time. People might think it’s superficial, but it’s not. Hair, makeup, skincare — those things affect how you feel. Avery was thinking about mental health.”

Journey said simple cosmetic items can make a world of difference for young girls. “People might think losing your favorite lipgloss, eye liner, pair of jeans or hoodie is petty, but it’s not because those things help boost confidence,” she said. “It’s how we represent ourselves. It’s our sense of style. Avery and Altadena Girls get it.”

Avery still remembers the discomfort she felt when she received gift cards in front of her classmates after the Tennessee flood that destroyed her home. “I felt embarrassed. Guilty.” That memory inspired her to prioritize the dignity of teen and tween girls in the wake of the Eaton Fire. 

A year later, her nonprofit isn’t attracting the same level of national attention it did immediately after the disaster. Sandidge said that she understands the waning focus, having lived through a similar dynamic after the Nashville flood. “It’s naturally what happens,” she said. “Everyone comes around. There are headlines. People want to help. And then the intensity dies down.”

But the long-term needs of disaster survivors related to mental health, stability and belonging don’t simply vanish, she said, a notion that research bears out. A in the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health found that direct exposure to wildfires significantly raised the risk of PTSD and depression six months afterward.

As Altadena Girls enters its second year, maintaining its momentum and making it more accessible are top of mind. The center is currently open three evenings a week, with plans to expand to full-time hours. “We want to keep it free,” Sandidge said. “And it’s not free to run.”

The organization is also forming a teen advisory board, a critical step, according to Avery. “It has to be for girls, by girls,” she said. “We need their feedback.”

In time, Sandidge hopes the space allows girls to plan their futures without the shadow of the wildfire and the trauma that accompanied it. “I want them to make decisions based on who they are,” she said. “Not what they lost.”

was originally reported by Nadra Nittle of . .

A year ago, Tanya Reyes watched in disbelief as the Eaton fire incinerated her Altadena home. As her three daughters listed everything they had lost in the days that followed, Reyes kept reminding them that what mattered most was that they still had each other. 

A year later, Reyes is struggling. The steadiness she once summoned for her children has been worn down by chronic back pain, brought on by the strain of moving every few months, and the emotional toll of rebuilding her family’s life while working her teaching job, supporting pregnant and parenting teens. 

Reyes is a teacher at McAlister High School in the Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD) and is among thousands of Los Angeles-area residents who watched their way of life destroyed as fires tore through neighborhoods and schools. Today, life is about finding equilibrium in a new normal, with many still putting the pieces of their old lives back together.

“I’m very much a go-getter and a doer,” she said. “And my body is saying, ‘No, you can’t.”&�Բ�����;

The 2025 fires cut a wide swath of destruction that the region is still grappling with. Thirty-one people died. Over 100,000 people were displaced.

School communities were hit particularly hard. More than 16,000 structures were destroyed, including eight school campuses in the Pasadena Unified School District and Los Angeles Unified. 

Evacuations put both districts on hold, temporarily halting instruction for roughly .

In the year since the fires, both districts have been on the road to recovery, making progress on plans to rebuild and renew their communities. They have also provided support to students during the year of upheaval.

“Over the past year, the school communities devastated by the January 2025 wildfires have demonstrated extraordinary resilience and strength,” Los Angeles County Superintendent of Schools Debra Duardo told EdSource. “While the Eaton and Palisades fires tragically claimed lives, destroyed homes, and disrupted the sense of security and daily routine that students depend on, we have come together to rebuild, support each other and heal.”&�Բ�����;

Reconstruction

Throughout the region, school sites are reminders of the fires’ destructive path. Tons of fire debris have been removed, and rebuilding efforts have started taking shape. In many respects, the two school districts have rebounded, but in different ways.

Los Angeles Unified has made headway in rebuilding Marquez Charter Elementary, Palisades Charter Elementary and Palisades Charter High School. 

Rebuilding the schools in LAUSD is estimated to cost up to $600 million. But the school district is able to count on rebuilding funds from a 2024  passed by voters. 

At Marquez Charter Elementary, enrollment is down to 130 students from 310 before the fires — some are attending other schools in the area or have left the region entirely. But in late September, those who remained were able to  to their original campus in portable classrooms. Their permanent campus is expected to be built by 2028, for $207 million.

Just over a mile away, nearly 3,000 Palisades Charter High School students will  to campus this month in portable classrooms after spending the past year attending classes in a renovated . Their new campus is expected to cost $267 million to rebuild and is slated to open by the end of 2029.

It’s a different story 35 miles away in the school communities of Pasadena Unified, where long-standing financial challenges compound fire recovery. District officials also look to a $900 million bond measure passed in 2024 to help restore its five campuses lost to the fire. But money is still tight. The district has struggled financially for years and has been  to avoid a county takeover. 

As the district recovers from the fire, its financial struggles have made recovery difficult. In November, the district  $24.5 million from next year’s budget as part of a larger $30.5 million reduction. Roughly $17.2 million of those cuts were in staffing, from teachers to gardeners and librarians — some of whom had been directly impacted by the fires. About 40 teachers were ultimately laid off. 

Compounded losses 

While both districts were able to relocate campuses — and keep students together in the same classes with the same teacher — within weeks of the fires, some students — particularly foster and homeless youth — struggled. 

In the Altadena area, about 225 children and youth in foster care were living in the region impacted by the Eaton fire, the majority of them school age. Some live in congregate care settings, such as group homes, while others stay with relatives.

Within three months of the fire, 36 students had relocated outside the area, moving an average of 16 miles away, according to an , a research center focusing on youth in the child welfare system.

As recovery continues, Taylor Dudley, the center’s executive director, noted that while some school-based services, such as support for students with disabilities, were initially delayed as schools took account of the losses, they were eventually provided more consistently as schools stabilized. But, she is concerned that students may begin to see other services “drop off” with time.

For example, if a student’s home is now safe to return to, the child might be reenrolled at the school they attended before the fire. Dudley noted that a transition of this nature raises many questions for a foster student, who may not have a constant advocate by their side: Who will ensure all their credits will transfer from their previous school? Will their transportation plan be upheld? Will their individualized education plan (IEP) transfer in full, with all services continuing? 

Meanwhile, the healing process has continued for students in the area who were homeless before the fires or who lost their homes. Nearly 300 homeless students in Pasadena Unified were enrolled by the first Wednesday in October, known as Census Day, during the 2024-25 school year, according to an EdSource analysis of the state’s most recently available data. About 10,800 were enrolled in the Los Angeles Unified School District. 

The state initially made it easier for families to enroll their children in new schools by removing the typically required documentation. Jennifer Kottke, the homeless liaison for the Los Angeles County Office of Education, spent months after the fires consulting with schools, working around processes to verify residency and determine which district a student belonged to. Students experiencing homelessness have the right to immediate enrollment at any moment at any school, she said. 

Some families who were suddenly homeless after the fires “were having a hard time because they’ve never seen themselves as being the ones in need,” Kottke said. “They’re the ones who provided for those who were in need.”&�Բ�����;

These families had previously been “the givers,” as Kottke noted. Some initially declined resources, from basic hygiene products to computers to food, because they believed other families might need them more, she said.

Meanwhile, as the year unfolded, some students in fire zones faced another crisis: immigration raids in the late spring. Both situations, one immediately after the other, targeted students’ sense of safety, said Lisa Fortuna, who chairs the Department of Psychiatry and Neurosciences at the University of California, Riverside.

“There’s so much threat to self and to one’s close loved ones, the people you’re dependent on, the places and things you depend on as your home, as your resources in the community,” said Fortuna. “It’s a cumulative loss.”

Adjusting to the new normal

Despite a quick surge in counseling and psychological support for students, the emotional fallout from the fires is ongoing. The occasional fire drill or nearby house fire can reignite feelings of fear and loss for students, said Gabriela Gualano, a teacher librarian at LAUSD’s Paul Revere Charter Middle School.

“We had to definitely front-load to the kids: ‘Hey, this is what’s happening. It’s just a drill. We know you’ve done this before. The district just wants to make sure that we’re able to do this in a timely manner, so we’re going to get through it,’” Gualano said. Some students have developed a dark humor around the fires, she said, while others avoid the topic altogether. 

How schools in the region will mark the Jan. 7 anniversary of the fires varies.

At Pasadena Unified schools, a moment of silence will usher in the anniversary. 

Some schools in the L.A. Unified area do not have elaborate plans to commemorate Jan. 7.

Some Los Angeles campuses might opt to plant a tree or take students on a walk, but only activities that heal, said Julianne Reynoso, Pasadena Unified’s assistant superintendent of Student Wellness and Support Services.

Meanwhile, Wendy Connor, a retired first grade teacher at Marquez Charter Elementary, said the school doesn’t plan to do anything on the anniversary. Maintaining a sense of normalcy is still the priority, she said. 

“It’s been a collaborative, iterative process,” said LAUSD school board member Nick Melvoin, who represents schools in the Palisades. “I think we’ve done a lot of right by our students, which is most important, but always, always more to do.”

The district is making “sure we keep our eye on the ball when it comes to the permanent rebuild,” he said.  

Meanwhile, teachers say they’ve had to grapple with decades of losses that can’t be replaced. Connor tries to remember what her room looked like, the place where she taught for 38 years when she and her students fled: “Somebody’s backpack is open on their desk; all the chairs are out or pushed around instead of just sitting all straight normal. It’s all wacky.”&�Բ�����;

The grieving continues for teachers, she said. “It’s not things that you can turn to the district and say, ‘Will you buy me this?’” she said. “You (used to) have samples of every art project all put together in a binder up on the shelf — and now you don’t have any of it.”

For teacher Tanya Reyes and her family, the past year’s struggles have made her reflect on how the community can best move forward after the devastation. Reyes stressed the importance of remembering “who the roots of Altadena were.”&�Բ�����;

She, her husband, and three children have moved three times — from one family or friend’s home to the next, and finally into a new rental home roughly 6 miles from Altadena in Sierra Madre. 

Reyes’ family is slowly coming to terms with what they lost this past year when their home burned, including a daughter’s stuffed tigress. Over the past year, the family’s pet bearded dragon died. But life moves on, and their new space is morphing into a semblance of home.

As the year progressed, Reyes learned that the recovery process means taking it slower.

“I feel humbled as someone who is a doer and a mover and a goer to really have to sit back and be still,” Reyes said. “There is a mourning or a grief in my body that I don’t even have awareness of, but it’s showing up.”

This  was originally published by EdSource.  for their daily newsletter.

With at least seven school buildings reduced to rubble, Los Angeles Unified School District is scrambling to relocate displaced students.

The work of photojournalists who braved the fires and their aftermath captures haunting images of what was left behind — the charred frame of a school bus, precious preschoolers’ artwork — and what has been lost forever.