The guests of honor were late, and teacher Karen Trout had no intention of wasting the found time.

She had a captive audience: 11 eighth-graders in a second-floor classroom on a desolate stretch of Pulaski in North Lawndale.

“You’re at a decision point; will you be part of the crew that just chills through high school or will you fight every step of the way?” Trout asked her mostly low-income students at a small Christian school that draws largely from the struggling North Lawndale community.

“Everything you do from this day forward will be about college,” Trout said firmly. Trout has spent 19 years living in North Lawndale and working in its public and private schools.

On cue, in walked Trout’s success story: Victoria and Valonda Roberts. These 21-year-old identical twin sisters are North Lawndale stars.

They grew up in the neighborhood, living a life marked by poverty and instability, and graduated from Chicago public schools. But unlike most African-American kids around them, the twins not only got into college — they graduated.

In May, they became the first in their family to earn bachelor’s degrees, Victoria from Denison University in Ohio and Valonda from Southern Illinois University.

Valonda, distinguishable from her sister only by her slightly rounder face, starts a master’s in public administration program this summer. Victoria, a Chicagoan who speaks with a soft southern drawl, is moving to New Orleans for a year to work in the local schools through the City Year program. She is considering a Ph.D. in linguistics and literacy to explore the development of poor and minority students.

At last count, just four of 10 black women who enrolled in college after graduating from a Chicago public school finished in six years. About 70 percent of black girls in Chicago graduate from high school.

Trout invited her former students — girls she and her husband have mentored, sheltered in their home for a time and embraced as family — to share their secrets.

How did they survive high school and college when so many others stumble?

Discipline, drive and, most importantly, a rich network of support — starting with each other.

“She’s my other half,” Victoria said, tilting her head into her sister’s and linking arms.

“We went different ways in college because we felt so dependent on each other, but it never really stopped,” Valonda added. When they couldn’t pay a phone bill, needed help with a class or couldn’t sleep at night, they called each other first.

What makes the twins so extraordinary, really, is just how wonderfully ordinary they are. Humble, wise and loving to those around them, they are mature beyond their years and eminently likable. The accolades embarrass them; graduating from college isn’t a big deal, they say. It’s about what you do with the degree.

“You want better for the next generation,” Valonda said during a long interview last month in her parents’ apartment in Austin. Despite a yearlong stint in prison for their dad and, at one point, the loss of their home, their parents have remained a devoted couple for 23 years, with their mother offering a model of resiliency.

“Sometimes it just takes someone to invest in you to take that step further,” Valonda said. “I look at my nieces and nephews — I want to invest in the next generation.”

Everyone who meets these young women can’t help but root for them.

Including me.

I met the twins in 2007, just before they graduated from North Lawndale College Prep, an intimate public charter high school that proved to be an excellent launching pad for them.

Victoria had just earned a full scholarship to Denison and Valonda a partial one to Lake Forest College (she later transferred to SIU). They both had excellent grades — a predictor of college success — and long records of community service.

But I had my doubts.

As a reporter, I had followed two other promising Chicago Public Schools graduates from poor neighborhoods and troubled families go off to Northwestern and Wesleyan, both highly selective schools. They had stronger academic credentials than the twins. The first earned a sky-high 30 out of 36 on the ACT college admissions exam, the other an impressive 26. The twins scored far lower, around 18, considered the minimum for schools with the most liberal admissions policies.

The girls who went to Northwestern and Wesleyan ultimately dropped out — and not because they weren’t smart enough. They left school, from what I could gather, because they were alone.

Both lacked a strong network to help them weather the financial, academic and culture shock that often accompanies the leap from some of the weakest schools and poorest neighborhoods in the country to some of the finest. And neither girl accepted help easily.

The twins faced those same challenges, and they were arguably less well prepared academically. Both initially struggled with weak study skills and Victoria was loath to speak up in class or ask for help.

“I didn’t want to sound different than others,” Victoria said. With help from a professor and trial and error, Victoria found her voice and her academic footing. “I needed someone to tell me that my words had value and not hold my tongue because I felt a level of inadequacy.”

The twins both started off at mostly white schools and grew tired of the focus on their race. Classmates assumed Valonda must be ghetto, being from Chicago and all. And Victoria chafed at questions about her hair, the slang she used and her accent.

But they were prepared. The twins had spent summers at top-notch colleges, coordinated by their high school, paving the way for an easier transition. And Victoria came to Denison with what she calls her “supporting cast.” The Posse Foundation sends groups of 10 students from disadvantaged backgrounds to campus together and links them with mentors. Both girls also had to manage work and school, despite their scholarships. They struggled to pay for groceries, books and trips home. They both left school with substantial debts.

But none of that did them in.

“Valonda and Victoria were hungry for the things they wanted, they were always looking for places to learn and grow,” said Michael Trout, husband to Karen Trout, the former teacher. He runs the Young Men’s Educational Network, a mentoring program in North Lawndale that the girls participated in and where their mother works.

“We offer 1,600 hours of staff engagement a year for any kid who wants to come,” Trout said. “But not every kid takes advantage. That’s the frustration.”

A few weeks ago, YMEN hosted a banquet for its students and toasted four recent college grads, including Valonda and Victoria. That brings to 16 the number of YMEN students who have graduated from college in the last 15 years. Trout’s group works intensely with about 50 students a year, starting in middle school. About 35 percent earn a college degree.

“Some kids never leave the neighborhood,” said Victor Roberts, the girls’ father. “It’s not like people tell they can’t, but no one tells them they can.”

The twins took risks others couldn’t or wouldn’t. They built a strong support network and let mentors into their lives — without losing themselves along the way. Their spirituality and parents centered them, as did their personal drive.

And they had each other.

“Life is a constant investment,” Victoria said, gently reaching out to touch her twin. “The hardest thing for me is where to give credit to — there’s been a lot of hands.”

Kate N. Grossman is the deputy editorial editor at the Chicago Sun-Times.