The timing was good. A growing number of families choose the small learning models and millions in public funds support them through school choice programs. An added bonus: The project would have been among the first from an independent research organization to measure the impact of microschools on student learning.

A year later, the researchers came up empty.

In fact, Jonathan Schweig, a Rand senior scientist, concluded that determining the impact of attending a microschool on student outcomes is “nearly impossible” because of a lack of useful assessment data. Parents often flee traditional schools and opt for unconventional models precisely because of a perceived over-reliance on testing. 

Nonetheless, Schweig added, testing “is important to understand how students are doing relative to other similar students.”

Co-researcher Laurel Covelli was scheduled to present preliminary findings from the study, shared exclusively with ����Ӱ��, at this week’s Harvard University conference on Emerging School Models. But instead of solid conclusions, she’ll focus on the challenges of studying a sector that even supporters say is . 

Microschools — small learning centers that meet in homes, renovated storefronts and churches — have been popping up across the country since the pandemic. In fact, recent research from Tulane University, shows that they represent  of private schools serving students on vouchers or education savings accounts.

According to the National Microschooling Center, nearly 40% of the small schools serve students using state-funded school choice programs. Microschools now number nearly 100,000, with the sector expected to expand  further when states opt in to the new federal tax credit program for school choice. There are anecdotal accounts of parents who say their children thrive in the close-knit, personalized settings, as well as examples of start-ups that fizzled. But objective achievement data can be much harder to find, even as their growing numbers are sparking calls to hold them to the same academic standards as public schools.

In May, Lisa Tarshis, part of the Primer microschool network, said she was looking forward to Rand’s findings. 

“As a movement, we have to be successful in what we’re doing … and we have to have data to show that what we’re doing is working,” Tarshis said. As head of the Primer Foundation, which provides financial aid to families and support to schools in the network, she said she’s a “big believer in full transparency” and the power of the free market. “Any business that isn’t meeting the needs of its customers will go out of business. The same should be true for schools.”

One leading supporter of the sector said she isn’t surprised Rand wasn’t able to do a “comprehensive comparison.” 

“Many families tell me that they chose a microschool or similar model because they wanted less testing and more focus on the whole child,” said Kerry McDonald, who recently released a new book on microschools and often contributes to ����Ӱ��. But she doesn’t consider the lack of data to be a “setback” for the movement, noting that microschools increasingly serve students with autism and other special learning needs “whose academic abilities may not be adequately reflected on traditional tests.”

Missing data

The Rand team initially approached the project as if they were evaluating charter or private schools, intending to examine how microschool students performed in reading and math on the MAP Growth tests. Because the tests from NWEA, an assessment company, are widely used in public schools, a comparison should have been possible.

But the data didn’t exist.

Rand gave NWEA a list of 271 microschools, compiled with the help of the Las Vegas-based National Microschooling Center. NWEA could only find 10 with fall and spring scores. Without both, Rand couldn’t determine if microschool students learned any more or less in a year than their counterparts in traditional schools. 

From the 10 schools they did identify, preliminary data shows that microschool students grew, on average, a third of a percentage point less in math and one half of a point less in reading than non-microschool students.

But the bigger takeaway is the absence of a large enough sample to produce meaningful results.

“Microschools are not little charters. A lot are really new and don’t yet have two test events per student,” Schweig said. Another issue is that because the schools are so small — with a median size of 22 students — parents might register for MAP assessments on their own and are never linked to a specific school.

But the primary reason for the lack of data, he said, is that “ a large number of microschools are not opting in to do these assessments in the first place.” 

Schweig and his co-authors hinted that they were running into trouble in March. In an , they said that information on students’ backgrounds and academic performance was often unavailable. The “lack of data poses a threat” to the validity of any studies on the impact of microschools, they wrote. 

Rand isn’t the only research organization trying to measure student achievement in microschools. Mathematica is currently analyzing data conducted with Rock by Rock, a project-based learning company based in New York City. The goal is to pair reading data from i-Ready, another commonly used public school assessment, with videos and student work to offer a more well-rounded view of what kids are learning. 

Schweig said the Mathematica project may have more success because microschools had to administer i-Ready three times a year in order to participate and get a discount on a Rock by Rock subscription. Jeffrey Imrich, CEO and founder of Rock by Rock, said he didn’t know if the researchers were having any complications. A Mathematica spokesperson declined to comment on the status of the study.

‘Parents are happy’

Some microschools assess students with traditional tests. According to a from the National Microschooling Center, a third of leaders say they use standardized assessments to measure student progress, but observations and portfolios of student work are more common. There’s also a shift toward accreditation, largely because some states require it from microschools that serve students using ESAs. In August, KaiPod, a microschool network, a partnership with accrediting agency Cognia to release accreditation standards specifically for the sector.

Adina Victor, vice president of non-public school services at Cognia, said they’re not trying to make microschools “give up” what makes them attractive to some families. But if leaders don’t gather student achievement data, their school may suffer.

“If you want state funding, there is a level of accountability that comes with that,” she added. 

Comparisons between microschool students and their counterparts in district schools do exist. They’re just not always easy to find. 

Prenda, one of the first microschool networks, published an “” for the New Hampshire Department of Education based on 2022-23 i-Ready data. It showed that Prenda students outpaced other New Hampshire students and the nation. But Kelly Smith, founder and CEO, said it was a one-time requirement for a contract with that state. 

Most states don’t require students on ESAs to take the same annual tests as kids in public schools. Indiana is an exception, but the state only reports data from accredited microschools. Most are not. 

In West Virginia, microschool students receiving the Hope Scholarship, an ESA, are required to take a standardized test or submit a portfolio of work. Most parents choose the second option, according to the state treasurer’s office, which runs the program. But officials only track whether students meet the requirement, not specific results. 

Michael Parsons, a microschool founder in the state, said he’d like to see some kind of “public-facing dashboard” with data on what test microschool students take and how their results compare to national norms. He gives students the Iowa Assessments, commonly used among homeschoolers, and said “it’s a disservice to students whose first time sitting down for a standardized test is when their admission to college depends on it.” 

Left-leaning think tanks, skeptical of private school choice, argue for stronger testing requirements. A February questioned the quality of education in microschools because many founders are not professional educators and often develop their own curricula. 

EdChoice President Robert Enlow, and other advocates, tend to point fingers back at public schools. In , Enlow said families are leaving traditional schools because they’re “not performing up to snuff.” 

Others argue that parents are the best judge of whether their children are learning.

“The number one measure that we have to demonstrate that these programs are working … is that their parents are happy,” Lindsay Burke, now with the U.S. Department of Education, said last year in an . At the time, she was still an education expert with the conservative Heritage Foundation.

Rachel Good, another Rand study participant, founded the in Chattanooga in 2022.  A former public school special education teacher and reading specialist, she believes students need “foundational academics,” but she wants them to do more than “regurgitate” facts on a test. 

“I want to inspire these kids to find their voice,” she said. In public school, “we didn’t have time to teach any meaningful social and emotional awareness. That’s something you’re going to use every day of your life.”

The lack of knowledge about how students perform on academic tasks has implications, not just for the public, but for foundations supporting school choice, said Schweig, with Rand. The Walton Family Foundation funded the study as part of a larger grant supporting choice research.

“Some schools are doing great things,” he said, “but there is value in understanding and helping schools that are not doing great things do better.”

Disclosure: Walton Family Foundation provides financial support to the Rand Corp. and ����Ӱ��.

But now she’s got company. 

Down a hallway lined with artwork, backpacks and storage bins, there’s a small Montessori school for 3- to 6-year-olds. A middle and high school operates on the same floor. And across from Blassingame’s two classrooms, Maya Corneille runs Nia School, which serves children with autism and apraxia, a disorder that affects movement and speech.

“Everyone has their own niche and strength,” said Corneille, a former college psychology professor.

Together they demonstrate how the microschool movement, which took off during the pandemic, continues to grow and adapt to students’ needs.

Microschools are also less “micro” than they were last year, according to the of the sector from the National Microschooling Center, shared exclusively with ����Ӱ��. In 2024, the median number of students in a typical microschool was 16. That figure has jumped to 22 — a reflection of the increased experience of school founders, said Don Soifer, CEO of the center. Some now serve as many .

The center’s report provides a comprehensive look at the trend as it continues to mature. Microschools — small schools that typically operate out of homes, commercial spaces or churches — now serve an , or about 750,000 students. Current or former teachers, or those with administrative experience, are increasingly running the programs. Eighty-six percent of founders have an education background, compared with 71% last year.

But some aren’t leaving public schools to join the movement.  Charter microschools and those affiliated with districts are generally larger, with a median size of 36 students, according to the report. 

They include , a project of BridgeValley Community and Technical College in South Charleston, West Virginia. This year, 20 seniors graduated from the charter microschool, where students earn college credit toward degrees in nursing or manufacturing. 

“The families we serve just see the huge amount of money they are saving on college tuition and the incredible learning opportunity this is for their kids,” said Casey Sacks, the college’s president. With small groups, real-world experiences and a personalized approach, the school, she said, “exemplifies many of the core elements of microschooling.” 

In another development, the Indiana Charter School Board recently granted a charter to a within the 1,200-student Eastern Hancock district, outside Indianapolis. Superintendent George Philhower expects one to three sites to launch this fall, with more opening across the state in the coming years.

“There’s a growing number of families looking for something in between the traditional public school experience and homeschooling,” he said. “Some are already homeschooling and doing amazing work, but they’re also looking for community, guidance, or access to certified teachers and additional resources.”

‘Financially sustainable’

The vast majority of microschools operate outside the public system, but the expansion of state-funded programs supporting private schools, like education savings accounts, has further fueled their spread. Primer, a for-profit microschool network, currently has schools in and Arizona, and will add schools in this fall. 

Over the next two years, the company plans to add five to six states, said Lisa Tarshis, head of the Primer Foundation, which provides financial aid to families and support to schools in the network. With ESA funds , she added that some microschool entrepreneurs are replicating their programs. 

“Once you get it down, it’s not that hard to open a satellite campus or to bring on another teacher,” she said. “Then you can become the owner and oversee these two schools.”

Of the 800 schools represented in the center’s survey sample, 38% receive state school choice funds, up from 32% in 2024.

This fall, Blassingame’s Ferguson School could be enrolling students on Georgia’s new Promise Scholarship, a $6,500 ESA targeted to students who live in a zone with a failing school. Others, she said, may qualify for the state’s separate ESA program for students with disabilities. 

ESAs make microschools “more affordable for parents and financially sustainable for me,” said Blassingame, who is accustomed to offering discounts on her $9,000 annual tuition and working out payment arrangements when families struggle. “I ask, ‘How much can you pay?’ But I have to be able to pay teachers and the rent.”

Democratic critics argue that ESAs not only hurt public schools, but also offer false hope to the 1 in 5 students who attend school in rural areas. Those communities often don’t have private options and the schools that exist may not , the left-leaning Center for American Progress argued in a . 

Microschools, easier to launch than a typical brick-and-mortar school, provide an alternative, said Amar Kumar, CEO of the KaiPod network. 

Even choice-friendly states like Indiana and Ohio still have “school choice deserts,” he said at a recent gathering in Atlanta for leaders running “hybrid homeschools,” which often combine microschools with at-home learning. “We can pass as many ESA programs as we want, but until we increase the supply of schools, we won’t really have choice.” 

‘Broader than just a reading score’

As more microschools tap public education funding, they’re drawing increased scrutiny from organizations outside the sector. Whether motivated by curiosity or criticism, growing interest from researchers and policy experts is another sign of the model’s expansion.

At least three studies are underway to examine microschools and report student performance on some of the same measures public schools use, like iReady assessments and MAP tests from NWEA. 

“There’s a lot of appetite for figuring out how we measure outcomes without being spaces that are tailored 100% towards a standardized test,” said Jeffrey Imrich, CEO and co-founder of Rock by Rock, which sells project-based learning curriculum and materials, primarily to microschools and homeschoolers. The company is working with Mathematica, a research organization, on one of the studies. “There’s an interest in making sure kids are learning and growing, but the interest is in a set of outcomes that is broader than just a reading score.”

But critics warn that the microschools still lack adequate government oversight. In a , the Center for American Progress characterized the unconventional programs as potentially unsafe spaces that often “bypass” building codes and are not required to follow civil rights laws, like the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, even if they receive public funds. 

In a , Soifer pushed back against the authors’ call for greater accountability and locking into a federal definition of microschools. Founders in this “many-flowers-bloom movement,” he said, already navigate “complex and often arbitrary” regulations designed for large, traditional schools. For example, in March, the Arizona fire marshall told a microschool founder she would have to spend thousands of dollars for building upgrades even though local authorities had already approved the school’s opening. After the libertarian Institute for Justice got involved, . 

As with last year’s report, founders getting ready to open schools say their number one need is understanding the rules and laws that apply to their programs.

‘Like a four-letter word’

With Texas recently passing a voucher program, Soifer and others are closely watching how the microschool model fares in the nation’s second largest state. Currently, he said, there’s no reliable count of the number of Texas microschools. 

“There are just too many that have been doing things under the radar for a long time,” he said.

But if they want to serve students on ESAs, they’ll have to meet the as other private schools. That means staying open for at least two years and getting accreditation. 

Earning accreditation continues to be a costly, and often insurmountable, barrier for many microschools. The process, which typically includes a financial audit, staff background checks and building inspections, can run up to $15,000. 

But most accrediting organizations haven’t always been what Soifer calls “microschool friendly.” Less than a quarter of microschools in his survey are accredited, but 80% percent said they would be interested in a process geared toward their non-traditional programs. At least one accrediting body, Middle States Association of Colleges and Schools, recently announced a for “innovative school models.”

The issue came up at the Atlanta conference, organized by the National Hybrid Homeschool Project at Kennesaw State University. 

“Accreditation is like a four-letter word in this community,”  said Sharon Masinelli, a lead science teacher at St. John the Baptist Hybrid School, outside Atlanta. She led a session describing why she sought recognition from Cognia, the nation’s largest accrediting body. High schools, she said, wouldn’t accept course credits for students leaving the hybrid school until it was accredited.

Other microschools seek accreditation so they can accept students on ESAs, just like well-established private schools. Mitch Seabaugh, senior vice president of the Georgia Promise Scholarship, also spoke at the conference, inviting attendees to give their input on the new program.

To Eric Wearne, who runs the Kennesaw project, the moment offered yet another sign that microschools had made it into the mainstream.

Addressing the group the next day, he said, “If you had told me that we would one day have a state official in a room full of school founders asking for advice, I would have lost money on that bet.”

In a decision last week, the Hope Scholarship Board also directed state Treasurer Riley Moore’s office, which runs the program, to turn their findings over to the state auditor for possible criminal charges. 

����Ӱ�� first reported in March that Hive Learning Academy, an education startup operating out of a rented house, was part of a state investigation into scholarship violations. One parent said the school abruptly stopped serving his son’s age group after only three days, made no mention of a refund and didn’t answer questions. Another said there were no set meal times and students just grabbed their lunches from the refrigerator.

Parents alerted officials to the problems, but Kaela Zimmerman, the homeschool parent who opened the program, said the state bears some responsibility.

“I feel like they are trying to make an example out of us to set a precedent even though the system truly failed us last year,” she told ����Ӱ��. She added that she had no plans to reopen anyway. “It was a learning process for everyone. I wish they were willing to admit that and understand that we all did the best we could with the resources we had at the time.”

While the Martinsburg-based school ultimately served just eight students, the controversy raised larger questions nationwide about the expertise of those who start schools with public funds. Critics of such programs, known as education savings accounts, say there is and that students suffer when programs abruptly close. But school choice supporters used the school’s failure to argue that market-based approaches like those in West Virginia work. 

“This is the flashpoint for the conversation about what is accountability with education savings accounts,” said Michael Horn, co-founder of the Clayton Christensen Institute for Disruptive Innovation, a nonprofit think tank. He on the topic at a conference in April and said drawing attention to problems and solutions will make programs better. 

Don Soifer, who leads the National Microschooling Center, an advocacy group, noted that West Virginia lawmakers voted last year to allow families to spend at microschools, but didn’t follow up with clear guidance on how the unconventional programs could participate.

“West Virginia simply had not anticipated a microschooling movement, and government was slow to respond,” he said. While the requirements on school founders are minimal — they must subject staff to criminal background checks and notify districts when students enroll — Soifer said the level of awareness in the state about the small programs has grown. “Things seem a whole lot better now. But the start was tricky.”

‘Everything was returned’

Launching the Hive was a greater risk than Zimmerman anticipated. She and a business partner opened the program last August and, lacking sufficient startup funds, dipped into their own money for furniture and supplies. Parents quickly spotted signs of trouble. The school’s schedule was inconsistent as operators worked other jobs to pay bills. Parents who visited the schools saw little evidence of academic work.

Ultimately, Zimmerman repaid the state over $15,000 and said she doesn’t understand why officials say she could face criminal charges. 

“Everything was returned that needed to be returned,” she said. “No one from the Hope board has reached out to me a single time since they received our refunds.”

Jared Hunt, spokesman for the treasurer’s office, said the board sent Zimmerman notice of the official action and information on how to appeal. But he declined to answer additional questions due to the ongoing investigation. 

To observers like Horn, the episode prompts additional questions for both parents and entrepreneurs seeking to open microschools.

“We’re in an environment where you’re seeing so many different microschools pop up with so many educators of different stripes starting them,” he said. “What’s the role of the state? What’s the role of parents? What’s the role of marketplaces in which students and families are making choices?”

“I didn’t want her to get lost,” Jenny said.

But private options fell short. A Montessori school she attended for kindergarten let her sleep all day. When she reached sixth grade, the Christian school she went to stopped providing extra help with schoolwork. The principal, Jenny said, explained that extra services weren’t important because “99% of our kids go [on to] higher education.”

That’s when the Balbaughs tried Streams of Hope Christian School, a smaller, unconventional program based in an Anglican church that lets students move at their own pace. Now in eighth grade, Ali can use a calculator for math problems and gets help with writing assignments.

“Every single child’s plan is individualized,” Jenny said, “and they don’t move on until they have mastered whatever they’re working on.”

Families like the Balbaughs, who have children with autism, ADHD and dyslexia, are seeking out small programs like Streams of Hope — part of a growing education sector known as microschools. Almost two-thirds of operators say their programs draw students considered neurodivergent, according to the latest snapshot of the movement from the National Microschooling Center, an advocacy organization. The survey of 400 microschool founders in 41 states also shows that children with other disabilities represent one of the next largest populations served, with 53% of school operators reporting that these students are enrolled in their schools. 

Like all private schools, however, microschools don’t have to accept students with disabilities or provide the same services as public schools, putting some parents who might otherwise take advantage of school choice in a tough spot.

The report, released Monday and provided exclusively to ����Ӱ��, is the center’s second since it launched in 2022. It shows that half of operators said they opened their programs to help students who are “systemically underserved.” The results also point to a sharp increase in microschools receiving public funds for tuition: A third of microschools now accept education savings account funds, according to the survey, up from 18% in . 

To Don Soifer, executive director of the Las Vegas-based center, the results show that the tight-knit settings microschools offer provide a better fit for some students. Educators launching microschools, he said, demonstrate a “deeper knowledge” of such needs and are responding to them in “deliberate, well-informed ways.”

‘Didn’t have the resources’

Jill Haskins, the executive director of Streams of Hope and a former teacher in the Fort Wayne public schools, said her program is flexible enough to provide some of the accommodations students couldn’t get in public schools. She recently accepted a student whose individualized education program required him to get one-on-one instruction in math, written lecture notes and help transitioning between classes — services his public school didn’t provide. 

“It wasn’t through any fault of the teachers. They didn’t have the resources,” she said. With tighter student-teacher ratios, she added, meeting students’ needs becomes easier. “A lot of what we do is just kind of natural.”

Other school leaders say needs or behaviors that might have been more pronounced in public school diminish in smaller settings. Kenisha Skaggs, who launched Soar Academy in Augusta, Georgia, in 2011, has accepted students who were suspended multiple times for incidents such as throwing a chair in class.

“When you change that environment, that stuff goes away,” said Skaggs, who ran a tutoring program out of her attic before launching the school. “Nine times out of 10, we do not have those behavior issues.” 

The national center’s data provides a view of the sector from the perspective of operators and potential school founders. But more complete data can be hard to come by as most states generally don’t count them as a separate type of school. They might be grouped with traditional private schools or with families that homeschool. Soifer estimates that there are anywhere from 95,000 to 125,000 microschools nationally. He described the sector as “very much a growing and evolving movement,” and one that is attracting a more diverse mix of families and educators. 

The median number of students in each microschool is 16, up from 12 when Soifer began tracking the movement. Forty percent of microschools operate in commercial spaces, a quarter in churches and 20% in private homes. 

According to the operators surveyed, about a third of families using microschools earn below the average income in their area. Fifteen percent of students they serve are in foster care, and 21% have unstable housing situations or don’t have enough to eat.

The largest segment of students attending microschools, 40%, attended public schools before they made the switch. A third were homeschooled, and only 4% previously attended charter schools, according to the report.

But there’s been little change in the demographics of microschool founders. About 65% are white, and almost three-fourths are current or former educators. 

Some teachers — 41% according to the survey — drew their inspiration to start a school from their own children’s struggles to learn. That’s why Haskins, who homeschooled her three children, enrolled her son in the microschool she now runs. When he turned 7, she realized he wasn’t learning to read at the same pace as her two older children. As a teacher, she was stumped. 

“I’ve taught in public school. I know how to teach reading, but I wasn’t making progress with him,” she said. A doctor diagnosed him as “profoundly” dyslexic. “He’s doing really well, but I think he would drown in a public school.”

Public funds for tuition

While microschools are private, some parents of children who attend them are able to for tuition through state scholarship programs and education savings accounts.

Some of those programs are only available to students with disabilities, like , which provides an average of about $6,600 toward tuition. Mary Gorlich, whose daughter Cora has learning disabilities and severe hearing loss, uses the scholarship to attend Soar Academy. 

“She was just so lost in her previous school. She’s not a problem and doesn’t make any noise, but they ignored her,” Gorlich said about the Catholic school Cora attended. “I used to pick her up crying every day … because of just how miserable she was. Now I pick her up smiling and she tells me about the math she understood.”

Indiana’s ESA program is also restricted to students with disabilities. Currently, two Streams of Hope students, including Ali, use the program to pay tuition. Another five were recently evaluated for special education services, which would qualify them for the ESA. 

But even though some microschools specialize in serving students with disabilities, as private schools they have to do so. Critics of ESAs and other voucher-type programs stress that students’ rights under the federal Individuals with Disabilities Education Act aren’t guaranteed once they leave the public schools. 

A on Georgia’s scholarship program, for example, states: “If you choose to remove your child from the public school — even if the state is providing some funds for the private school — then you are refusing parental consent to services under IDEA.”

Denise Marshall, CEO of the Council of Parent Attorneys and Advocates, an organization that works to protect the rights of students with disabilities, noted that even if microschools provide some services, parents might not have any recourse if there’s a conflict. In most cases, she said, there is no right to due process.

“This still leaves families unable to push back if they disagree with the IEP or it is not followed,” she said. 

That’s why many West Virginia families opt to stay in the public schools even though the state has the Hope Scholarship, a universal ESA program, said Jamie Buckland, who leads West Virginia Families United for Education. She advises both families and providers on school choice.

She has no doubt that some children with dyslexia and sensory needs could benefit from attending a microschool. But she said there are “so many families whose kids’ accommodations prevent them from choosing private options.”

Southeast Florida has a thriving microschool community that includes , led by Susan Safra, who previously taught in a large Broward County high school. Now she teaches about 50 students through field trips, farm work and surfing lessons. But she said her program is not equipped to serve students with behavior issues, major learning disabilities or “any kind of impulsivity.”

“It’s not because we don’t want them. Our teachers are not trained,” she said. 

Skaggs, with Soar Academy, said she can only accept a few students who need one-on-one support throughout the day. But there’s still strong demand for her program. With an enrollment of 100, Soar is larger than most microschools; another 200 students are on a waiting list. 

With Republican-led states continuing to advance ESA legislation, some leaders in the microschool community are also strong proponents for expanding eligibility to all families. 

In Indiana, Haskins hopes lawmakers are successful next year. If that happens, she said she’s going to “desperately push” families to apply for it.

“Then we can raise tuition to become sustainable,” she said. Tuition ranges from $2,500 to $5,000 annually, with additional fees for curriculum and “à la carte” offerings like a Lego club, Pickleball and Bible classes. The rates are as much as she can charge “without completely breaking our families.”

And in Georgia, Soar students and staff lobbied for passage of the state’s , which will provide students in the lowest-performing 25% of public schools with $6,500 to attend private schools. 

“We’re super excited about bridging that gap for students that just can’t afford to attend a private school but don’t qualify [for the special needs scholarship],” Skaggs said.

Gorlich’s daughter, now a sophomore, made the trip to Atlanta to of the bill. 

Attending Soar has given Cora a “mad confidence boost,” she said. “This is my extremely miserable, won’t-talk-to-anybody, very closed-off kid who now testifies in front of the state Senate for educational rights.”

The West Virginia mom paid the operator a $2,200 advance from her — an education savings account that gives families state funds for tuition or homeschooling expenses.

But events at The Hive Learning Academy quickly unraveled. Instead of structured meal times, children just grabbed lunch from the refrigerator when they got hungry. Her son “would come home starving because he was too shy to just go into someone else’s fridge,” Romanishan said. 

Kathy Dailey, who enrolled her 13-year-old son there, had a similar experience. When she visited the school in the eastern panhandle town of Martinsburg, students were just “hanging out,” buried in their phones. 

An exasperated Romanishan said she “soon realized that The Hive was actually just a glorified babysitter.”

By Christmas, they’d joined several parents demanding their money back and scrambling to find other arrangements — inquiries that prompted Republican state Treasurer Riley Moore to include the school in an “ongoing audit and investigation,” an official said. 

The probe is believed to be the first government investigation anywhere into a self-identified microschool, providing an awkward milestone for a movement that mushroomed during the pandemic and now includes 125,000 schools nationwide, according to the .

Hailed by Republicans, and fueled by the spread of ESAs, microschools operate out of homes, storefronts and churches with a degree of freedom from government oversight. But the West Virginia episode shows that managing that freedom while maintaining public accountability can be a tricky balancing act, even for the movement’s fiercest advocates.

“We’re in a transitional market,” said Jamie Buckland, who runs , a nonprofit that advises both parents and vendors in the sector. She thinks states with ESAs should do a better job preparing school founders and helping families navigate their options. 

“If we don’t want the government to provide the guardrails and the parameters,” she asked, “what is our movement doing to provide our own guardrails?”

Acknowledging they’d received “allegations of specific Hope Scholarship violations,” the treasurer’s office, which runs the ESA program, would not comment on the scope of the investigation or when it would be completed. In a November email shared with ����Ӱ��, an assistant treasurer told Romanishan the office was considering the “potential involvement of law enforcement if appropriate,” but has yet to bring charges.

In an interview with ����Ӱ��, Hive founder Kaela Zimmerman explained that she lacked the cash flow to make the venture work and struggled to get answers from the state when the program collapsed. She said she has since repaid the state over $15,000 in Hope funds.

Romanishan called the experience “not only painful, but disruptive.” 

“It makes it hard to trust anyone else, which is sad because the area needs a good microschool,” she said.

‘We tried our best’

Zimmerman thought so, too. The homeschooling mother opened The Hive with co-founder Kristin Volpe to give her own three children more opportunities to make friends. She rented the space, hung maps on the walls and culled curriculum materials from her favorite homeschooling programs. 

When 30 families registered last summer, she had high expectations. To help get started, she asked parents in August to pay the bulk of their tuition up front  — roughly $2,000 to $4,000 per student. But she had to dip into her own money to pay for furniture and supplies, and when fall came, only eight students showed up. 

She said she and Volpe never intended to “avoid our responsibilities.” With far less revenue than expected, they didn’t have enough to cover costs and pay themselves. To save money, Zimmerman moved out of the home she was renting and into the second floor of the microschool location. She and Volpe took jobs at a Macy’s warehouse to pay bills and Zimmerman began bartending a few nights a week.

But juggling multiple jobs made for a “hit or miss schedule” for students, Dailey said. 

“It was a fun environment,” she added. “But there wasn’t any homework or a set curriculum.” 

The state doesn’t ask potential vendors to submit a business or education plan up front. Anyone who wants to be an authorized Hope “service provider,” including a microschool, must sign a contract agreeing to get criminal background checks on staff working with students and to notify districts when they enroll. To receive funds, vendors need only submit a W-9, a tax form for an independent contractor, and document the Hope funds they receive from parents. 

Their downfall, Zimmerman said, was a lack of startup cash. She applied for a grant from the , a foundation-funded initiative that has helped launch and expand microschools and other alternative education programs. But they turned her down, saying that they had received more applications than they could fund. 

When she realized she couldn’t keep the program going, Zimmerman said she asked state officials how to return the ESA funds, but didn’t receive a lot of guidance. That’s why a November certified letter threatening criminal charges caught her off guard. She said she has since returned over $15,000, covering all of the scholarship funds she received minus payment for days students attended.

“It was very stressful and upsetting for us,” she said. “We are just two working class mothers with a great idea, but no means to make it happen. We tried our best.” 

But it takes more than good intentions to run a quality program, said Rachelle Noble, founder of Microschool Solutions, an Arizona-based consulting firm that advises aspiring school leaders. 

Formerly with Prenda, a microschool network, Noble was in charge of the model’s growth. Two years ago, she made what she describes as a tough decision to close two programs that operated with a Kansas school district’s virtual program. Both schools served families in low-income neighborhoods near Wichita.

“We did it way too late,” she said. The environment wasn’t dangerous, she said, but “it got to the point where it was clear that it was educational neglect.” The schools, she said, lacked an “emphasis on academics.” 

The reality is that many new microschools don’t last beyond the first year, said Amar Kumar, CEO of KaiPod Learning, another microschool network. Before he accepts prospective founders into the organization’s “catalyst” program, he ensures they have a solid financial plan. 

“It’s the same as with any small business or startup — the chances of failure are very high,” he said. “Even with the best of intentions, if your microschool can’t make ends meet, then you’ll end up disappointing families, and no one wants that.”

The involvement of public money in the form of ESAs raises the stakes. While most microschools don’t take ESA funds, Don Soifer, CEO of the National Microschooling Center, said his group’s upcoming report will show that 32% of microschools now accept , up from 18% . 

After The Hive ordeal, Zimmerman said she still loves the concept of microschools. But she doubts she’ll try to open another one.

“They require more resources and business knowledge than most regular working class people [and] parents have,” she said.

Doing ‘due diligence’

That’s why don’t think public funds should support them. 

Chris Stewart, CEO of Brightbeam, an education advocacy network, once considered himself an ESA “evangelist,” and hoped they’d provide better educational options for marginalized children. But now he thinks the laws lack accountability and create potential for and “a huckster market of vultures who see ESAs as a business opportunity.”

Last year, for example, a grand jury in Maricopa County, Arizona, accused of fraud and theft of over $87,000 in connection with that state’s ESA program. 

While it’s unclear if any of their businesses operated as microschools, the women allegedly created educational receipts and claimed reimbursements for “bogus services,” according to a prosecution report. Investigators’ examination of one woman’s account showed she used ESA funds for “day-to-day living at retail stores and restaurants” and spent money at Amazon, Uber and Airbnb.

For many in the movement, the attitude toward bad actors is, “Let the buyer beware.” They say it’s up to parents to do their homework before choosing a school.

“Some parents do an inordinate amount of due diligence,” said Noble, with Microschool Solutions. But others, she said, “sign kids up and haven’t even seen the space.” 

Advocates believe the market will eventually fraud and low-quality options.

But that’s no consolation for parents like Romanishan, who eventually received a $1,340 refund for the days her son didn’t attend. While waiting for scholarship refunds to appear in her account, she subscribed to an and enrolled her son in a cooking class. In the meantime, she said, he lost his friends and had to adjust to a new routine. 

“I feel like I failed my son,” Romanishan said. “I should have seen the red flags.”

Disclosure: Stand Together Trust provides financial support to and ����Ӱ��.