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(1/2004 ) - Seventy-one percent of American high school students go to schools of one thousand or more, according to the U.S. Department of Education. Yet, everything we know about the needs of families and adolescents says smaller is better—for the uniqueness of young people, for their achievement, for feelings of connection, for their sense of self.

In a large school, how do you hear the quiet voice, the thoughtful comment, the fresh insight? How do you notice the new confidence, the curiosity about chromosomes, the accurate corner kick? In a large school, you may recognize a girl by her face, but in a small school, you also know her by her sense of humor, that she always has M&Ms in her backpack, and that she wants to be a neuroscientist.

In his popular book The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell offers examples of groups, from ancient religious sects to today's powerful corporations, that have known the value of “small.” There is, in fact, something nearly magical about groupings of 150. “The Rule of 150,” says Gladwell, “suggests that the size of a group…can make a big difference.” As teachers and mentors, we know he is right.

In a small school, no one can hide. The 12th grade science teacher knows who in the ninth grade loves physics. The soccer coach knows the tennis players and the basketball fanatics. The yearbook advisor can tell you who has a great collection of jazz CDs. In a small school, every teacher knows every student, at least to say hello, to ask a question, to have a short conversation. And most teachers know many students extremely well—how they approach a new book or a problem, how they organize ideas, and what kind of praise means the most. In a small school, teachers truly can teach individuals—instead of just classes.

We can do better than “survival of the fittest” when it comes to educating girls. In a small school, there is no need to waste energy trying to be noticed. Every student has a front-row seat and can be seen for who she is, what she believes, and what she can do. Small is powerful. For girls especially, small means the difference in being heard, in being recognized, in making her mark. The goal, after all, has never been to shrink back but to step forward, to get involved, to be your best possible self.

In a small school, every girl learns that her participation and contribution make a difference. She becomes known for her leadership, determination, compassion, and honesty. And when she realizes how much her school (and the world) is depending on her and believes in her, she has the confidence to be bold, to risk failure, to stretch.

There is something impressive about girls working together, when they are happy, contributing, when they have ownership in their community. They will set their own standards and define their own expectations. Sure in the belief that they are valued and heard, they will have the confidence to resist the definitions our culture presents to them. They will decide on their own that history is more interesting than following the crowd, that writing poetry offers more reward than worrying about dress size, that genuine friendships are based on much more than looks or race or status.

The fact is, thinking big happens best in a small school. We want girls to dream big about their futures and create large visions of what they can do in the world. In a small school, we can know everyone well. And for girls to be known for something more than the color of their hair, or their baby tees, or their platforms, or their power beads, to be known instead for their skills and talents—for their intellects—what could be more powerful for girls than that?