As he stands in the hot sun outside Farrington High School's Hawaiian Academy, after completing a chant for teacher 'Alohilani Okamura, 16-year-old junior Mataiva Taetuna recalls his freshman year and how hard it was to fit in.

"When I first came to Farrington, I wasn't sure I was going to make it," he says. "Too many kids. I get easily distracted."

The first few days of school were hard, agrees Breanna Rodrigues, a 13-year-old freshman.

"It's easy to get lost," she says.

Life in the state's biggest school means crowded classrooms, long lines for lunch — maybe no lunch at all — and a hefty hike to your next class. But the key — the first thing students must do if they are to thrive — is find out where they fit.

"Some of my friends say school is so boring," says junior class president Miguel Cadoy, 16. "But I tell them, 'come participate.' "

Mataiva found his place in the Hawaiian Academy, with its emphasis on language and culture and the chance to build a lo'i on campus.

Breanna's solution? "Make a lot of friends."

"In a big school, you have to make students feel they belong somewhere," says principal Catherine Payne. "As high school gets tougher and tougher, there will always be kids not fitting in. But we have to find a place for them, or they'll be a problem for society."

Finding niches for kids is a crucial part of managing a school whose student population — 2,579 — is bigger than some towns. In fact, Farrington, with its 22 acres in the heart of Kalihi, one of Honolulu's poorest and most densely populated neighborhoods, is its own urban village, with action in every corner.

From students being counseled at the Teen Center, to Hawaiian Academy students competing with the dull roar of H-1 Freeway traffic as they chant a morning greeting, to the young pregnant girls taking an elective course to prepare for childbirth and motherhood, the place is a series of distinct neighborhoods.

With this many students and so many competing needs, Payne constantly must make hard decisions.

This year, the space squeeze cost the school its childcare center. Last year, 12 babies spent the day in a classroom, giving their student mothers the chance to visit at lunch and recess. Now they're gone. "We needed the space," says Payne. "I had to evict them."

There's more crowding. On the floor above where the childcare center used to be, health teacher Lee Myers was forced to arrange 33 desks so tightly that students complained.

"I have to fit them in," says Myers. "There's no choice."

Even lunch creates dilemmas. The school cafeteria is too small for the campus population, so manager Tony Lat forms up five cafeteria lines and even sends 200 lunches to a second feeding station outside the principal's office. But even there, the line gets so long that students give up, though many are eligible to eat free.

"I can't get them to eat, no matter what I do," says Lat. "And the tables are occupied by higher grades, so they don't want to sit down with them. So the younger kids, the smaller ones, don't eat."

From its crowded rooms to leaky upper-floor ceilings to the closed and abandoned swimming pool, the state's largest public school is a campus in need. In addition to its large student body, it struggles with poor drainage, an inadequate electrical system, and aging buildings with 69-year-old roofs.

The repair backlog amounts to 93 projects worth $5 million — though that's down from $16 million 10 years ago when Payne took the job. Still, the air conditioners are giving out on the top floors of the two largest classroom buildings closest to the freeway, and in some rooms, it's so noisy teachers use microphones to be heard.

In a state burdened with large schools — Hawai'i secondary schools had the third-largest average enrollment in the nation in 2002 — Farrington outweighs the next biggest by just a handful of students. That means that, like Payne, many Hawai'i principals are juggling numbers and needs along with escalating expectations under the federal No Child Left Behind Act.

"The thinking about big schools back in the 1960s when the trend started was efficiency, economy of scale, and on the curriculum side, being able to offer a lot more opportunities," says Randy Hitz, dean of the College of Education at the University of Hawai'i. "But the question is, what do you lose? And I think what you lose is a student's sense of belonging and the opportunity to take leadership roles.

"An obvious example is how many can be involved in student government or on the varsity basketball team?" says Hitz. "Your chances to participate meaningfully in a larger school are diminished. ... It's just easier to get lost. And when you look at achievement, students in small schools will out-achieve those in larger schools."

Even though Farrington's scores are moving steadily upward, Payne agrees the odds are strong that results will begin falling below national standards. The student body includes 500 students — about 20 percent — for whom English is a second language, 300 more — about 12 percent — with special education needs, and 60 percent to 70 percent from impoverished families. Fifteen or 16 languages are spoken in a student body that's 60 percent Filipino, 14 percent Samoan and 12 percent Hawaiian or part-Hawaiian. The remaining 14 percent are a combination of eight other racial or ethnic groups.

"The children who don't speak English — or kids who are illiterate in their own language — require a whole different kind of instruction," Payne says.

Though there's a determined focus on careers and creating interest-based "academies" and "hales" — smaller schools within a school — only about 30 percent to 40 percent of Farrington's graduates go on to some further training. "We have to work with families," says Payne. "Many are in a survival mode, and they need the kids to work."

Further complicating life on a campus of this size, the school is a barometer for crisis in the community. Skyrocketing housing costs, lack of rental units, tensions between kids from various housing areas, an increase of gang activity in the area. Any friction in the community can show up on Farrington's doorstep.

"People are moving in with relatives, doubling up and tripling up, and then the kids are coming to school," says Payne. "Every day there are some that come in and some that go out. We're seeing the beginnings of more homelessness. It's the tip of the iceberg."

According to the latest student survey in 2003, 57 percent of Farrington's students disagreed with the statement that "gangs are not a problem at my school." After a loaded rifle was confiscated from a student on campus a week ago — the first firearm discovered in several years, says Payne — students were especially concerned.

"Everybody was surprised," says Miguel, the junior class president. "Because of what happened at the other schools, like Columbine, some of my friends were talking about it — what if it happens at our school?"

Payne can sense when there's going to be trouble on campus. She has made a career managing schools with disadvantaged students. When she took over, she had come from almost a decade at Kailua's Olomana School, whose student body included inmates of the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility and youths in the Detention Home and State Hospital.

"If there's trouble, we hear about it, and we're paying attention," she says.

Maintaining order is key. Late students face "lock out" for that class time and other duty such as pulling weeds. At lunchtime, security chief Stephen Ho, a retired police officer, takes up a strategic position — in the middle of the central quad and halfway between a couple of groups he keeps an eye on. Wannabe gang members, he calls them.

On this day, Ho's presence is enough. Lunchtime passes. The group in the stairwell and the one under the tree are peaceful. A suspected gang bandana is confiscated, but otherwise it's a calm day.

"Be peaceful. Get an education. Go home safe," is Ho's philosophy. "Hey," he'll tell the kids, "I don't know your name, but I love you." He tells his officers: "Learn their names, don't threaten them. They're children."

Touching moments all day long prove his point.

Michael Siaris strums an 'ukulele and laughs with friends between classes. "We do a recess jam. Just play, play for anybody," Michael says.

Three friends from a photography class — Deborah Manog, Aprilei Ramirez and Kathleen Viernes — pose in Carnivale masks for a photo project about memories. "Wait a minute, I don't have the longest arms," chuckles Aprilei, stretching the digital camera out in front of them.

Sherwin Doropan meets friends Keenan Arelliano, Arthur Subia and Ernest Balingit, every morning before class to finish some homework, hang out and talk about the future. Sherwin has set his sights on a Mainland college, for engineering maybe, and works as a cook at Zippy's 20 hours a week.

Evelyn Calub, 15, joins a dozen girlfriends on the lawn at recess to bid goodbye to Maryann Manaday, who is moving to California. Evelyn says she loves her school. "All my teachers, I'm so close to them. I build relationships with my teachers, and they help me if I'm having a hard time."

Diane Matuz, a 16-year-old junior, feels the same. "There's a lot of people here; you can make a lot of friends."

Today, that kind of spirit is creating growing pride on campus, with students told constantly they're expected to live up to a set of high-minded goals about striving to be the best called "the Farrington Way."

Pride is also growing in the community. An active alumni association gives the school $70,000 a year for scholarships and grants to teachers for special projects, and New Hope Christian Fellowship, which rents space for services, recently paid to install a sprinkler system for the two largest lawns — greening the campus dramatically.

And Farrington students are excelling. One of the most obvious triumphs are the three gleaming vending machines sitting in honor at the entrance. Two years ago, Farrington students took first and third place, plus honorable mention, in the annual Coca-Cola vending machine design contest.

As the last bell of the day sounds, students explode through doorways to more than 30 after-school clubs or off to one of three bus stops in front of the school. Soon band practice is in full swing, a group of agile youth are challenging each other in mini break-dancing contests, and a couple of hunky guys are tossing a football on the new green lawn as band flag-bearers hurl yellow banners in the air.

At the entrance, Officer Ho is still on duty. "Hi Officer Ho," calls a teen heading for home.

He waves.

"I love you girl," he says.

Reach Beverly Creamer at bcreamer@honoluluadvertiser.com.