Dr. Z went from struggling to read as a teenager navigating homelessness on Chicago’s South Side to earning a doctorate—and founding an accredited adult high school designed for people whose education was interrupted.
And Dr. Z named it after the person who first believed that future was possible for her.
The Caprice Carthans Academy, an adult high school diploma program serving students ages 18 and up, recently received regional accreditation through the Western Association of Schools and Colleges, a milestone that places the school alongside nationally recognized institutions and allows graduates to pursue college, military service and career pathways with widely accepted credentials.
For Caprice Carthans, the recognition reflects something larger than a program milestone.
“I was honored and humbled when Dr. Z told me she wanted to name the school after me,” Carthans told Windy City Times. “Most schools are named after people when they’re gone already. I’m still here.”
Carthans met Dr. Z when she was 16—a young Black trans girl trying to survive instability, substance use and barriers to education. When Dr. Z said she wanted a high school diploma instead of a GED, Carthans began helping her learn to read, bringing beginner books and sitting with her through the process.
Years later, that mentorship became the foundation of a school.
“That’s what community investment looks like for me when you pour into people,” Carthans said. “I want Black and Brown folks and trans folks to see this and say, ‘Wow. It was possible for her, so it’s possible for me.’”
Building a different pathway back to education
Dr. Z described the academy as an alternative to traditional GED programs, which often rely on standardized testing without rebuilding foundational skills.
Her program uses project-based learning, live virtual instruction and a 12-month structure that meets students where they are academically—sometimes starting at earlier grade levels before advancing.
Students attend live sessions multiple times a week and complete assignments tied to real-world skills, including financial literacy and emotional intelligence. The school currently serves about 40 students—many of them Black and LGBTQ+—including people with learning disabilities, justice-impacted backgrounds or disrupted schooling.
Affordability is central to the model. Students pay about $150 to enroll and roughly $100 a month for classes. Dr. Z said this is intentionally low so cost does not become another barrier.
“We’re in this to give back—not for the money,” Dr. Z said. “We have to have some funds coming in so that we can pay our teachers, and that’s what I mostly care about.”
Regional accreditation changes how that work is recognized. Diplomas carry broader legitimacy, credits are transferable and students can move forward without the skepticism often attached to non-accredited programs.
The process took years of curriculum development, evaluation and review.
“When you go for accreditation, it’s like 40 people sitting in a room and you don’t know,” Dr. Z said. “You have no idea if you’re going to get it or not.”
The approval, she said, legitimizes what students already knew: Their education is real.
For the adults the academy serv—many of whom were told they were too far behind—the message is simpler.
“It’s always the right time to invest in yourself,” Dr. Z said. “The right time is when you start.”
A legacy unfolding
The academy’s story is inseparable from the relationship that inspired it.
Carthans and Dr. Z quickly became one another’s chosen family. Dr. Z indeed started calling her “grandma,” a reflection of the consistency and care Carthans provided during some of the most uncertain years of her life.
“She never judged me,” Dr. Z said. “She was never in a position to judge me.”
Naming the school after Carthans became a way to formalize that influence and extend it outward.
“It would be very impactful to give back to somebody who gave to me,” Dr. Z said.
Today, that looks like adult learners attending class after work, preparing for graduation ceremonies they once believed were out of reach, and—in some cases—attending prom for the first time.
The program is open to everyone, but Dr. Z intentionally built it to be welcoming to LGBTQ+ adults, particularly trans women navigating survival economies or gaps in formal education. Six hours of instruction a week, she said, can create momentum even in complex circumstances.
The school continues to grow. Dr. Z is developing a nonprofit arm, seeking partnerships and encouraging foundations to support the program so tuition can remain low.
For Carthans, watching that growth is the point of mentorship.
“She is walking in her truth and she’s building new pathways to give back,” Carthans said. “We get to change narratives and create new spaces.”
In the academy’s downtown office—a stark contrast to the instability that shaped her early life—Dr. Z sometimes pauses to take in the moment.
“I come from nothing,” she said. “To be where I’m at in life… I’m grateful for these moments.”
What matters most, she said, is not the office or the accreditation. It’s that the person who first helped her imagine a future is here to see what that belief became.
“The fact that my grandmother is still living and she gets an opportunity to see this whole entire creation … I think it’s very powerful,” Dr. Z said.