Tulsa, Oklahoma

With her long, wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail, the young mom sat alone outside courtroom 6 at the Tulsa County Family Center for Juvenile Justic, checking her phone and anxiously waiting for a court official to call her name for an eviction hearing.

“I’ve never been through this,” Courtney said in early May. Her two kids, ages 5 and 6, were staying with her mother out of town while she tried to catch up on rent or find another place to live. It was the best for the children, she said, but “they want to be with me.”

Between losing one job and starting another, she feared she’d still come up short of the  $1,004 she owed.

She didn’t have much time.

In Oklahoma, the eviction process moves faster than the ability of most renters to respond. State law gives tenants five days to pay their debt or move out. A tenant has to appear in court just three days after a summons arrives. 

Tulsa has one of the worst eviction rates in the country — the as of a decade ago. Since then, the rate has grown from 8% to . Last school year, landlords filed evictions affecting more than 600 children in the state’s largest district, the Tulsa Public Schools. 

Her kids’ schools, Courtney said, didn’t ask why she withdrew them with a month left in the school year.

That’s hardly surprising, experts say.

“[Parents are] looking for, ‘How do I find a place where my kids are going to sleep?’ ” said Eric Hallett, a staff attorney at Legal Aid Services of Oklahoma. “They’re not thinking ‘What can a lawyer do for me?’ or even ‘What can Tulsa Public Schools do for me?’ ”

But in a state with one of the in the nation, that’s something the district is trying to change. Since 2020, leaders have worked with ImpactTulsa, a nonprofit, to prevent disruption in kids’ education and quickly direct parents under threat of eviction to resources like legal aid and rental assistance. When a student’s address appears in an eviction filing, the parent receives an email from the district offering help.

The alert is a promising example of schools being “first responders” in a housing emergency, said Barbara Duffield, executive director of SchoolHouse Connection, a national advocacy organization focused on students experiencing homelessness. Tulsa’s system has caught the attention of organizations doing similar work from Dallas to Dayton, Ohio. But the resources available to families fall far short of the demand, and the threat of eviction itself can be so traumatic that parents are often too overwhelmed to respond.

“There is a culture of defeat,” said Ana Barros, the director of collaboration and partnerships for ImpactTulsa. If the eviction seems like a “done deal, why would I reach out for help?” 

Roughly nationally are caught up in evictions each year, with households headed by single Black mothers . Housing instability lands the heaviest on families with young from a Stanford University survey shows that nearly 30% of parents with children under 6 were worried about being evicted in the next month and 8% had already received an eviction notice. A federal program provides homeless students with educational and transportation services. But families who are evicted don’t immediately qualify for the same support, and the damage to students’ learning is clear.

“The gaps in children’s education are huge,” said Emily Turner, an attorney who is part of ImpactTulsa’s eviction prevention team. Missing days and weeks of school because of an eviction raises concerns about kids’ safety, she said, and the more they miss, the harder it is to come back. “They feel behind or they feel scared or they feel like this isn’t my space anymore.”

In the Oklahoma City schools, 65% of students whose families received were chronically absent, almost as many as those who were actually evicted, according to , part of Mental Health Association Oklahoma. On state assessments, students with an eviction notice or judgment had 25% lower proficiency rates in math compared to their peers. In reading, the academic impact was more than twice as much — 56% lower. 

“We have slipped to the bottom in education rankings,” said state Rep. Amanda Clinton, a Democrat who this year to give tenants facing eviction access to free mediation before a judge heard their case. The bill passed the House, but died in the Senate. She agrees with Republicans that the state should focus on turning around its dismal performance in . “But we cannot be serious about improving student outcomes unless we get serious about keeping kids in the classroom to start with.”

At Kerr Elementary, on the east side of Tulsa, Principal Jennifer Thomas sees the academic impact of evictions every morning. Students with unstable housing are frequently absent, and when they do come to school, they often arrive at least an hour late and hungry. 

“We have students who have been at four different schools within a month,” she said. As with Courtney’s kids, Thomas said it’s not unusual for grandparents to provide backup, but that adds to the learning disruption. “Grandma doesn’t know where the school is, or Grandma’s not used to having to get the kids up at 7:30.” 

Lawmakers took up the issue last year and worked to pass a bipartisan bill that would have given tenants a few more days to show up in court — a rare development in such a deep red state. But Gov. Kevin Stitt, a Republican, . With a background in , including rental homes in Florida, he argued that the extension would be too “burdensome” for landlords. This year, a died in committee. 

“This is a very, very landlord-friendly state,” said Delia Kimbrel, the director of research and policy at ImpactTulsa. “The scales are really stacked up against the family.”

‘Human realities’

landlords are the most likely to evict, . Those include Vesta Realty, which owned Barcelona Apartments, the Spanish-style complex at a busy intersection in southeast Tulsa that filed the case against Courtney.

Hannah Remick, a former administrative assistant for the company, who herself from one of its 40 complexes, estimates that Vesta filed about 25 evictions a week. Whether tenants have kids doesn’t make landlords any less likely to force them out, she said.

“They would just say ‘units.’ They wouldn’t think about who is living in that unit,” she said. The process, she said, is “very separated from the human realities of what’s going on there.”

When ImpactTulsa identified management companies evicting families with school-aged kids, some of the affected properties had and code violations that had gone for months. In 2024, one mom of a kindergartner told reporters she was to the media about a lack of hot water and cockroaches in her apartment. 

Poor living conditions for renters are not unique to Tulsa. A showed that 13% of renters moved in the past two years because their home needed repairs. Five percent said they were either evicted or trying to avoid eviction.

Remick described as “one of the worst,” with workers instructed to layer coats of Kilz primer over walls with mold. Courtney told ����Ӱ�� she had six work orders pending, including one for a leaky water heater, when she was evicted. Because an eviction can prevent a tenant from getting another lease and affect future employment, she asked ����Ӱ�� not to use her last name. 

The company’s financial condition was likely one reason for the backlog of repairs. Vesta’s owner, Marc Kulick, is facing . In February, Fannie Mae, the mortgage lender, against the company, and in July, as a result of litigation, a , YSA Investments, took ownership of multiple Vesta properties, including Barcelona. Vesta was also among the Tulsa landlords that fell months behind on .

“We all got letters on our doors saying they were going to charge for water,” Courtney said, even though that cost is supposed to be part of the rent. 

According to a city official, the company caught up with water bills, and Vesta issued a statement saying that because of a pending “ownership dispute,” all questions about conditions, staffing or maintenance at Barcelona should go to the current operator. 

YSA spokesman Parker Detweiler said his company is “doing everything humanly possible within the law to get living conditions where they should be.”

Sherri Daley, executive director of the Tulsa Apartment Association, said while it’s important to address the “underlying causes of housing instability,” landlords have to worry about their bottom line.

“Property owners and managers typically focus on the lease obligations, payment history, and compliance with the rental agreement rather than whether a household includes school-aged children,” she said. One of the arguments against extending the eviction timeline was that it would hurt small, independent landlords. “Even one missed payment can create a ripple effect, leading to deferred maintenance and other financial pressures for the owner.”

Tenants falling behind on rent can sometimes avoid an eviction if they communicate with their landlords, said Amy Coldren, who launched Shelterwell in Oklahoma City in 2023.  As part of its eviction prevention work, the organization provides nonprofits and schools with a free, tenant education program called . It covers topics like how to understand a lease and manage a budget.

Coldren said one of the first women she met after starting Shelterwell was facing eviction because her children, who had previously been in foster care, were considered unauthorized occupants.

“I’m a former foster parent, so I know the work that she did to get her children back,” she said. “A simple solution would have been for her to have a conversation with her landlord and put her kids on the lease.”

‘A sensitive manner’

ImpactTulsa’s work began with a disturbing realization.

Property owners  are also concentrated in the same neighborhoods as schools with the highest . That’s what the organization found when it began scraping the eviction court docket six years ago for addresses that match those of district students.

Between 2020 and 2023, Kimbrel identified eviction filings affecting roughly 4,400 Tulsa students. The disruption wasn’t brief. A year after a district family’s eviction showed up on their radar, nearly three-fourths of those students were still chronically absent. 

“That just slapped everybody in the face,” she said. 

But even the most sophisticated of district data systems can’t stop families from being displaced. The district’s homeless education staff last school year emailed all 621 families identified through the alert system, said BreAnna Shine, director of student engagement. Less than 100 ultimately received support through the district. Most didn’t respond. They might have landed somewhere else, ignored the message or resolved the issue with their landlord.

The other half of the system is a resource hub in one of the district’s most heavily impacted clusters of schools, East Central. The schools on that side of town draw from apartments like Eastgate, which filed eviction notices during that 2020-23 period affecting 47 students at Cooper Elementary and 26 students at East Central High School, Kimbrel’s analysis showed.

The hub at East Central Middle is two offices near the front entrance where Angeles Gonzalez, a family “navigator” with Tulsa Responds, and Turner, an attorney for the YWCA, meet privately with parents to triage their immediate needs — items like rental assistance, a free hotspot or food stamps. But district staff initially wrestled with whether they even wanted to know which families had been evicted. 

“It’s a sensitive matter,” said Stephanie Andrews, executive director of student and family support services. It’s uncomfortable to contact a parent who might not want anyone to know they’ve hit such a low point. “It’s not been without some bumps.” 

The district can guide a family to a nonprofit offering short-term rental assistance or temporary housing, but that often means they end up on a waiting list for services. Restore Hope, a nonprofit, spends about $100,000 a month in rental assistance, but those funds only cover about 30% of the eviction cases, said Josh Geppelt, executive director. Plus, to qualify, applicants have to show they have “means to maintain the rent after we do the assist.”

Living in limbo during that application process, while also bouncing from one living situation to the next, is draining, said Aspen Allen, a mother of three.

“You’re waiting for them to call you, and if nobody answers, they move to the next person,” she said. 

She leaned on the district last fall for clothes and backpacks for her kids in between leaving a rental home with plumbing problems, spending time in a run by a local church and moving into Parkview Terrace on the west side of town, a public housing development known for . It’s the same complex where she’s currently waiting for a subsidized apartment. 

“I haven’t been able to have my own spot for my kids to be happy, go to school, go on vacation and just have a good life,” said Allen, who works as a DoorDasher and was waiting to hear back about a part-time FedEx position. “I’m trying to keep them in school, not missing any days, which is very difficult at times.”

‘They grab what they can’

Inspired by Tulsa’s example, nonprofit leaders in other cities nonetheless face the same obstacles in trying to serve families with scarce resources. 

“There is no system,” said Aqua Porter, executive director of the Rochester-Monroe Anti-Poverty Initiative in New York. “There are just things that people have to navigate through, and they are not connected.”

Most of those other nonprofits have something Oklahoma does not — a longer timeline between eviction notices and court appearances.  In New York, for example, nonprofits have roughly 30 days from an eviction filing to help families find legal aid, point them toward sources of financial support and encourage them to attend their first court appearance.

Because Oklahoma’s system is designed to get renters with delinquent payments out as soon as possible, it’s often too late to prevent eviction. Those with nowhere to go may stay in the apartment after they’re evicted until they’re forced out by the sheriff’s department, said Melissa Vowell, a homeless education program specialist for the Tulsa Public Schools.

They usually have about an hour to collect belongings. 

“If it’s a sheriff’s eviction, they grab what they can in the time a sheriff will allow,” she said.

Their next stop might be Vowell’s office, which connects to a storeroom packed with school uniforms, socks and underwear, and personal hygiene products.

She also maintains a detailed spreadsheet filled with organizations offering food, transportation and housing. One nonprofit on the list is , tucked into a serene, wooded area west of downtown. Out of a small white cottage, Executive Director Tina Massey runs an eviction diversion program that provides one-time payments of up to $1,000 for those who have fallen behind on rent. Massey estimates that the program reached close to 90 district families last school year.  For those who lose their housing, a shelter on the same property offers fully furnished apartments for up to three months.

Brooklyn Cloud found Family Promise on Facebook last year while living in a Mazda SUV with two daughters, one in preschool and another in second grade. After an eviction from Harmony Glen, a 74-unit complex owned by a , they spent six months sleeping under the lights in Walmart and QuikTrip parking lots. 

“I didn’t even know a 7-year-old could get depressed,” Cloud said. “Her grades started to slip, lack of appetite. She wanted to sleep all the time.”

While staying in one of the apartments, Cloud and her husband paid off the eviction and saved for a new home. Their oldest now “has her own space.” 

“She’s more bubbly and her personality is back,” she said. “She’s not so down-in-the-dumps and snappy.”

‘Legal first aid’

Most parents in a crisis like Cloud’s don’t even show up to court. 

“They can’t get time off work or child care,” said Hallett, the legal aid attorney.

That was clear the day Courtney’s case appeared on the docket. Of the 89 eviction filings before Judge Tammy Bruce, who hears about 13,000 eviction cases a year, less than half of the tenants showed up. 

If they do appear, they’re unlikely to have . In nearly every case, Judge Bruce told them they could either meet with their landlord’s representative or see if they qualified for legal aid. Court documents show Courtney represented herself, while a Vesta employee appeared for the company.

Courtney was evicted two weeks later. Attempts to reach her by phone and text since then were unsuccessful.

Last year, Hallett began asking tenants if they have children in the Tulsa schools. It’s his contribution to the district’s effort to identify more families. 

On the district side, about 40 teachers at East Central MIddle learned how to offer “legal first aid,” like helping parents construct timelines of the events that led up to eviction. Missed or partial payments, maintenance issues reported, and messages to landlords and property managers are important to document because when apartments change ownership, new managers don’t always honor previous attempts to pay. 

Barros, with ImpactTulsa, expected some resistance from staff to the training. She’s a former social studies teacher at East Central Middle.

“Teachers are like ‘Whoa, that’s not my job. You’re adding something else to my plate,’ ” she said. But schools play a unique role in eviction prevention, she said. “Kids are legally required to be here. So let’s take advantage of that.”

My job is to tell a student, kindly, when an argument is not working yet. But the machine had just told them it was. Not because the machine was broken, but because it had been optimized to agree.

For two years, educators have warned students that artificial intelligence makes things up. It can give a wrong answer wearing a confident face, a phenomenon known as hallucination. But there is also a quieter failure we have barely named, and it is more corrosive because it feels like support.

Researchers call it sycophancy: when an AI system flatters, agrees with or validates a user even when a correction would be more truthful. A hallucination is a wrong answer. Sycophancy is a wrong relationship.

When students head back to school at the end of the summer, AI will already be part of their schoolwork. Last year, the ⁠ that 84%of high school students used generative AI for schoolwork, and a February ⁠ found that 54% of U.S. teens had used chatbots for assignments: writing, summarizing articles or videos, studying, and creating or editing images.

A from Turkey illustrates why this is a problem. Nearly 1,000 high school students were given help from an AI math tutor powered by GPT-4, the technology behind ChatGPT, while practicing math. They solved more practice problems with the tool. But when the tool was taken away for the real test, students who had used the less restricted version, which could provide more direct answers, scored 17% worse than students who had no AI help. In the same study⁠, a guarded tutor – designed to give hints instead of answers – avoided that drop in test performance.

AI can make learning look easier while quietly removing the struggle that makes learning stick. In writing and analysis, where judgment matters, it can even encourage students to do inferior work.

Learning runs on friction: the red pen, the Socratic question, the “not yet, try again.” Education often tells students they are not right yet so they can become right. A tool engineered to affirm removes a core foundation that education depends on.

In April 2025, OpenAI rolled back a version of GPT-4o after it had become, in the company’s words, “⁠.” The company later admitted it hadn’t tested for sycophancy before rolling it out to hundreds of millions of users. OpenAI pushed a temporary system-prompt fix, then returned users to the earlier version. The rollback fixed that release, but it didn’t address the broader problem of AI systems becoming too agreeable when users need correction.

The pattern is not limited to one chatbot. In March 2026, a Stanford-led team published a ⁠ across eleven leading models. When users asked for guidance about personal situations and relationships the models affirmed their actions 49% more often than humans did. In prompts involving deception, illegality or other harms – such as lying, manipulation or socially irresponsible behavior – they endorsed the behavior 47% of the time. People who interacted with sycophantic AI became more convinced they were right and more likely to trust and reuse the tool. 

A student who asks whether a weak thesis is strong, whether thin evidence is enough or whether a draft is ready to submit may not be looking for praise. They may be looking for a teacher. If the tool offers confidence instead of correction, the student never feels the discomfort that turns a half-formed idea into a real one.

I am not arguing that students should avoid these tools. But every student using AI should ask: When has this tool stopped helping me think and started flattering me into not thinking?

That confusion may cost the most among the students I work hardest to reach. At a historically Black university, I teach young people who are brilliant and underestimated, who are wary of how institutions judge them and who sometimes turn to AI because it does not seem to judge at all. 

For students surrounded by regular, trusted feedback, an over-flattering tutor may be an annoyance. But for those with fewer chances to get honest, trusted feedback, it can become a closed loop: The student asks, the machine praises, and no one tells the truth. 

A 2026 Stanford study of ⁠ makes that worry more concrete: identical essays received different feedback depending on how the student was described, with essays attributed to Black students receiving more praise and less substantive criticism. That is not reassuring.

So what do we do?

First, educators should teach AI as something to interrogate, not an answer machine. Assign students to make the model disagree with them, hunt for the moment it praised a weak argument, and grade that catch. “Where did it just agree with you?” is a teachable skill.

Second, instructors and advisers should change the question they ask about AI help. Not just, “Did it give you an answer?” but, “Did it make you explain your thinking?” “Did it ask what evidence you had?” “Did it push back?” “Did it make the work harder in the right way?”

That kind of friction has worked before when it is built into the tool, giving hints instead of answers, asking questions that make students show their reasoning and offering prompts that slow them down before they accept AI advice. In the Turkey study⁠, the guarded version that guided students instead of simply spitting out answers largely avoided the learning harm. Other studies have found that prompts requiring users to ⁠, ⁠, and make their own judgment can reduce blind acceptance of AI advice. Until every tool is designed to slow students down in those ways, adults must teach students to add the friction themselves.

We spend our careers teaching students to tolerate being wrong long enough to get it right. The best AI tutor may not be the one students like most in the moment, but the one that refuses to finish the work for them. The friction was never an obstacle to learning. It was the learning.

In AP Chemistry, the share of students scoring a 3, 4 or 5 (generally interpreted as a passing grade on , which are scored on a 1-5 scale) increased from 54% in 2022 to 75.1% in 2023. In AP United States Government and Politics, that proportion grew even more, from 49.2% to 73% from year to year. By , roughly 100,000 more students hit the passing threshold on AP U.S. History in 2024 than in 2023.

The change came — the nonprofit education organization that owns and administers both AP and the SAT — to adopt a new scoring methodology intended to tamp down volatility in results. The organization’s leadership said the new procedures brought their standards into better alignment with those of universities themselves, making the AP a more reliable indicator of students’ readiness for college-level work. Since scores of 3 or above are generally accepted for college credit, there needs to be a close equivalency between high ratings on the 42 AP subject tests and what is expected by postsecondary institutions.

Yet some critics say the surge in higher marks shows that the tests have simply been made easier to pass. The most prominent, Harvard political scientist Paul Peterson, pointedly accused the College Board of “dumbing down” its hallmark products in a recent of published by the journal Education Next. 

Peterson said the shift might be seen as a reflection of grade inflation at the college level, adding that, after a long period , it could be seen as “appropriate” for a test taker to now earn a 4 with a performance that previously would have merited a 3. 

On the other hand, he faulted the College Board for stirring confusion over what American students actually know — and for not being more forthcoming about changes in their methods.

“The College Board wants to say, ‘We haven’t changed our standards, and we’re the one reliable benchmark out there that everyone should pay attention to,’ ” Peterson told ����Ӱ��. “But at the same time, they’ve modified the way they score the material.”

Trevor Packer, the College Board’s senior vice president for AP and instruction, rejected that characterization. Passing rates have risen precipitously because the old grading process, reliant on small panels of college instructors, dramatically understated high schoolers’ actual readiness for college, he said.

For a number of tests, Packer wrote in an email, “prior panels had established artificially stringent standards that produced pass rates well below the historical AP standard.” 

Much could depend on whether states and colleges accept that explanation. Dozens of states to sit for the exams, and about the same number for passing scores. What’s more, governors and local education leaders and participation rates as in their states.

Tom Loveless, a veteran K–12 researcher who formerly headed the Brookings Institution’s Brown Center on Education Policy, said the upsurge in AP grading is particularly incongruous with the results of virtually all other standardized testing from the last half-decade, which have shown significant drops in academic achievement coinciding with the emergence of COVID-19 and subsequent closure of schools to in-person learning. 

“They started this [change in scoring] during the pandemic, and no one in their right mind thinks the scores went up during the pandemic,” Loveless said. “Yet the AP tests are defying what every other test is telling us.” 

The ‘Great Recalibration’

Peterson’s analysis, based on the College Board’s scores on each subject test, shows that the phenomenon produced startling effects immediately.

Student grades across a selection of AP’s — Biology, Chemistry, English Language and Composition, English Literature and Composition, Human Geography, U.S. Government and Politics, U.S. History, World History and Psychology — leapt at both the middle and top of the distribution. 

The fraction of students rated 3 or higher in those subjects rose from 52% in 2021 to 71% in 2025, while those scoring a 4 or a 5 ( as as either “well-qualified” or “extremely well-qualified” for college coursework) increased from 28% to 45%. The progress was not obviously the consequence of a more selective pool of participants; in fact, the total number of test takers grew by over 10% during those four years.

The sharp ascent accompanied called “evidence-based standard setting,” which incorporate input from hundreds of college faculty members about the performance expectations for their undergraduate courses. In the aftermath of that changeover, far more high schoolers were deemed capable of passing such courses than in years prior.

Packer, who has led AP for over 20 years, vigorously defends what critics call as a necessary step to smooth out inconsistencies in scoring that had plagued the program. In , he said the boost to scores under EBSS was actually much smaller than the annual changes generated by the earlier system — citing as an example a group of biology teachers whose 2013 update “subjectively reduced” the number of students earning 5s by approximately three-quarters.

That example comes with a caveat, however: Far from a sudden jolt, the 2013 compression in biology grades followed an overhaul to the course curriculum that was previewed . At the time, that university professors considered the new exam “the gold standard of college-level Biology.”

In an email, College Board spokeswoman Sara Sympson said that the biology panel had erred in aligning their cut scores (the minimum score to attain a given mark, such as a 3) with the course’s new content and expectations.

“The redesigned course was excellent; the standard-setting was not,” Sympson wrote.

Perhaps more pressing is the fact that little of the College Board’s recent data support claims of wild swings in student performance from one year to the next. Of the nine tests that were initially converted to the EBSS rubric, most had seen only modest scoring increases or decreases in the two decades before the pandemic. 

Between 2002 and 2019, the biggest year-over-year change in the share of students earning a passing grade on any of those tests was 12.3 percentage points (in AP Biology, after the 2013 redesign). By comparison, in the first year after EBSS’s adoption, the proportion of students who scored a 3 or above grew by an average of 17.4 points across all of the nine subjects. In virtually every case, the new system quickly lifted the number of passing grades to their highest level in recent memory. 

One noticeable example of scoring inconsistency occurred in 2022, when the pass rate for AP English Literature and Composition number skyrocketed by 34 points over the previous year. In an email, the College Board listed that explosion as an impetus to move away from its existing scoring process. 

Its description was somewhat ambiguous, however, specifying that the increase did not result from “the full EBSS methodology.” 

When publicizing the increase four years ago, to both the efforts of AP teachers and “an accumulation of powerful data from colleges” — wording that strongly echoes of the EBSS process, which it says “collects input from hundreds of experts and assembles fine-grained student performance data for analysis.” This suggests the evolution toward new criteria may have already been underway that year, at least in part. 

A question of rigor

Packer has repeatedly explained the changes in a number of venues — including by authoring in which he dismissed as “entirely false” the notion that the rigor of AP exams has been diluted.

In doing so, he addressed a secondary question that is decidedly murkier than the issue of cut scores. Over the last decade, some students and educators have questioned whether alterations to content and formatting may also be driving the growth in high scores. 

Most prominent among them is John Moscatiello, a career teacher and tutor who founded his own . In with Peterson in May, he said that the English Literature and Composition test now features shorter, simpler literary passages for student response than were common in the early 2000s. A of the items’ textual complexity reveals a substantial deterioration in difficulty over the last two decades, Moscatiello has argued. 

Tweaks at the margins may subtly impact how high schoolers experience the assessments. The College Board (a slight deduction in points for wrong answers, as opposed to leaving a question blank) in 2010, added in the U.S. History exam’s analytical reasoning section and recently in its virtual testing platforms.

Still, the cumulative effect of these shifts is difficult to know with any precision. 

Two years ago, when the AP history exams lowered the citation quota for their document-based questions (i.e., the number of sources that students are asked to reference in response to an essay prompt) from six to four, Steve Heimler that the decision would make a high score “much easier” to achieve. 

The Georgia-based tutor, who once specialized in homeschool instruction, on YouTube and TikTok during the COVID era by dispensing tips to nudge his viewers’ point total upward. Many of his almost 1.3 million subscribers laud Heimler for guiding them to a better score, but notwithstanding the occasional adjustment from the College Board, Heimler believes that AP’s materials have lost little of their academic challenge.

In an email, he said he found it unlikely that the organization would deliberately water down their own assessments.

“I suppose it’s possible that they have modified their equations to result in higher scores, but I’m skeptical of that explanation since colleges rely on certain standards of rigor in AP exams in order to award credit,” Heimler wrote. “I assume they’d soon dissolve their partnerships with the College Board if it was clear that the scores were artificially inflated.”

Calls for greater transparency

Some colleges already curtail students’ ability to substitute their AP scores for credit.

A from the Progressive Policy Institute found that, among the 153 most competitive postsecondary institutions in the United States, half restrict the amount of AP credits students can receive. Over 80% limit the applicability of AP credits in at least one subject area, and 10 schools — among them Dartmouth, Brown and CalTech — do not accept AP credit at all.

But those are fairly exceptional cases, and across the country, the vast majority of colleges honor AP scores of 3 or above. In part, this is because they are made to: Thirty-seven states actually require their public universities to award AP credits. 

Many of the same states for economically disadvantaged students to sit for the tests, which come with a $99 fee. Their investment in the program therefore imposes multiple demands on local taxpayers — both of which could become more tenuous if lawmakers and education leaders come to believe that the academic value of the exams and courses have been debased.

Richard P. Phelps, a longtime observer of K–12 policy and the founder of the , has previously criticized the College Board’s financial and organizational structure. But in an email, he was sparing in his criticism of the so-called Great Recalibration, which he called a reasonable effort to make sure that AP coursework did not hold high school juniors to a loftier standard than college freshmen. 

Where Phelps did critique the Advanced Placement program was in its aggressive approach to public affairs. The College Board’s , he wrote, has “successfully constrained many public colleges’ freedom to adjust their course credit policies.” 

“They must award course credit for certain AP exam scores even if they no longer believe those scores merit it,” Phelps lamented. 

The prestige of AP clearly maintains a hold on the public, as evidenced by the growing numbers of students enrolling in its courses. Over 1.3 million pupils took at least one AP test in 2025, and about 80% of public high schoolers attend a school in which five or more AP courses are available. And political leaders in states like and have recently hailed “record-high” AP scores and course participation rates. 

But calls for transparency will likely grow. One early sign of skepticism emerged in February, when the boards overseeing admissions and academic policy throughout the University of California noted several concerns about AP scoring in to the system’s academic senate. The authors recommended that UC faculty carefully study “specific parameters … within EBSS that may be responsible for a sharp increase in pass rates” and, if needed, reconsider their criteria for admissions, course placement and course credit.

To date, the College Board has only released addressing the controversy. More technical reports, including psychometric analyses from EBSS’s originators and historical scoring data from different AP iterations, haven’t been made public.

Loveless said that the College Board likely had defensible reasons for rolling out the policies that began in 2022. But what he called the absence of clarity in the organization’s actions “raised suspicion,” he continued.

“They probably have data to justify a lot of what’s going on. The problem is they just haven’t released it,” he said. “They need to do a lot more explaining of what they did.”

“I’m not going to pretend like you aren’t,” he tells his students. “I know it’s readily available for most of you, if not all of you.”

A math teacher at in Fullerton, California, where he works with students as old as 19 who are struggling to get enough credits to graduate, Rabanera has watched AI creep into homework assignments over the past few years as students use powerful tools like ChatGPT and Google’s Gemini to race through assignments. 

It has forced him to change his approach. 

He has stopped sending home problems that can be lifted wholesale into an AI chatbot and pasted back into an assignment. Instead, he builds lessons around what students actually care about, creating, for instance, a unit on buying a car that weaves together calculating interest rates and monthly payments with learning about credit scores. He has replaced rote problem sets with one-of-a-kind poster projects and in-class design challenges. 

When Rabanera assigns practice, he often has students devise their own word problems around personal interests to prove they understand the underlying concepts.

He’s hardly the only one scrambling to try something new: Nationwide, teachers at all levels are rethinking, scaling back or, in some cases, abandoning homework altogether as evidence mounts that students who outsource their assignments to AI aren’t just submitting work that isn’t theirs. They’re surrendering the cognitive struggle that makes learning stick and makes homework, well, work.

New large-scale research suggests that teachers’ fears are valid. A led by Sina Rismanchian of the University of California, Irvine, analyzed 3.2 million student math problems on the digital platform over a decade and found that after ChatGPT’s release in late 2022, high school students spent 31% less time on word problems — the kind easily copy-pasted into an AI — compared with graph-based problems that required a hands-on interaction with the platform. College students showed a 27% decline. 

When students were tested under proctored conditions with no access to AI, the copy-paste behavior vanished. And when researchers examined whether students had actually retained anything, they found that the odds of correctly answering AI-susceptible word problems fell by 25% in the post-ChatGPT years.

“Students are using AI a lot,” Rismanchian said in an interview. For those who do, “it’s coming at a cost for their learning outcomes.” 

The College Board last fall that the percentage of high school students who said they use AI tools for schoolwork grew from 79% in January 2025 to 84% in May 2025.

In a , 37% of K-12 principals said students were using AI for homework help, slightly higher than the percentage who said students were using it to help draft essays.

John Singleton, an associate professor of economics at the University of Rochester and a co-author of the study, said the finding “certainly requires a rethinking of what the object of homework is.” For him, assigning short writing assignments to his college students is “insane these days, because you’re going to get back 25 AI-generated short essays, and so it’s really not gauging comprehension. It’s not even doing the work of forcing the student to engage with the material, because they can put it into the AI.”

Conscientious instructors are drafting AI policies that they post to class syllabi, he said, “but I think the temptation is there.”

Talking to colleagues, Singleton said, “Everyone feels sort of bewildered about whether they’re doing the right thing.” Moving toward presentations and oral exams make sense, but giving up traditional writing assignments as a way to assess student thinking, he said, “is too bad, in some ways.” 

The irony of this moment is that AI was supposed to offer students a , capable of explaining concepts, adapting to individual learners and helping them work through difficult material at their own pace. Instead, many educators say, for a significant share of students it has become the most efficient cheating device ever invented.

“There’s a zillion people that are trying to come up with these guided learning environments and Socratic tutors and stuff like that,” said Justin Reich, director of MIT’s Teaching Systems Lab and host of the AI-focused podcast “.” “And I’m just like, ‘Guys, you’re putting the “Carefully teach me this stuff” button directly next to the “Do everything for me” button.’ ”

Reich has spent years studying why students cheat. When they’re being honest, they typically tell researchers that the assignment didn’t seem worth their time, or that they ran out of time. They felt pressure to perform or, in many cases, they found themselves stuck on a problem with no other help in sight. 

“What’s new now is that, with all the gen AI stuff, the cost of taking a shortcut is zero,” said Eric Cosyn, a researcher who co-founded the .

Ashley Kannan, who has taught eighth-grade U.S. history for 30 years in Oak Park, Illinois, said that if schools continue to go down the same path of assigning work and expecting students not to be tempted to take shortcuts, “the war is over — we’ve lost.” Classrooms, he said, will be left in “a race to see who can plagiarize and cheat the best, and who has the resources to do so,” a dynamic he calls a losing bet for everyone. 

Start your homework in class 

In interviews, many educators and researchers were quick to point out that AI didn’t invent academic dishonesty. 

Denise Pope, a senior lecturer at Stanford’s Graduate School of Education and co-founder of , a research and school reform project, has been tracking student cheating behavior for two decades. Long before ChatGPT, she said, copying a classmate’s homework was consistently the most commonly admitted form of academic dishonesty.

The group’s latest academic integrity study, drawn from nearly 30,000 high school students, shows that this pattern still holds: 32.7% of students reported copying someone else’s homework at least once in the past month, a figure almost identical to the share who reported using AI as an unauthorized aid: 32.8%.

Students, Pope said, are simply swapping out one shortcut for another.

“This sort of hand-wringing that AI is changing homework like never before is a little bit off,” she said, “because there were high amounts of copying and cheating homework long before.”

All the same, Pope’s team has surveyed more than 100,000 students since November 2022, and the results are unambiguous: They’re using AI to do homework. Many don’t frame it as cheating, making the case that consulting an AI is no different than asking a parent, calling a tutor or typing a question into Google. Echoing Reich’s findings, she noted, “Some of them are saying it’s another piece of technology that helps us when we’re stuck.”

Teachers, naturally, see it a bit differently. A Challenge Success survey of 678 faculty and staff members found that the most pervasive concern, raised by about 58% of respondents, wasn’t cheating itself but the erosion of critical thinking. Teachers complained that students aren’t developing the intellectual stamina that hard problems require. “If school is about skills and not content,” one teacher wrote, “ChatGPT takes away critical thinking skills at a time that we are supposed to be teaching those skills to the students.”

Pope said her group is hearing from teachers that they’re afraid to send homework home “because it’s even more clear that there’s this ‘Easy’ button, and students are not having the productive struggle that they need to really learn the material.”

She recommends rethinking homework, starting with what she calls a homework audit — a systematic review of assignments to ask whether they actually require a student to do the intellectual work required. Teachers should also be able to tell if the work was done by the student or by AI.

“Start your homework in class,” she advised. “You will get a really good picture of who understands what you’re asking and who doesn’t by looking around and seeing what happens in the first 10 minutes — one kid is done and one kid is still stuck.”

Kannan, the Illinois history teacher, has landed on a similar idea, built around conversations. He still assigns a version of the same paragraph students have long written to identify a historical figure and place them in context — but the process now unfolds through one-on-one conferences rather than solo writing. Because of the conferences, the writing looks different. 

The goal, he said, is to locate the assignment “in the hearts and minds of a student” rather than in a generic prompt that AI can complete on command. “I think that there’s a way to personalize rigor,” he said. “When students, when young people feel that something is personal to them, they do come alive.” 

Kannan said this kind of individualization isn’t new — special education teachers and speech-language pathologists have practiced it for decades. “All I’m suggesting is that there are pathways that we know work. Why not bring it into the mainstream classroom for every student?”

‘How could this be stronger?’

Researchers are also grappling with the limits of what they can measure. Self-reported cheating data, as Rismanchian’s paper notes, is “the least reliable way to measure anything.” In his own earlier research on 70 undergraduates, more than half of students who were directly observed relying on AI denied using it. “We were actually observing this copy-pasting behavior,” he recalled.

A group of McGraw-Hill researchers co-authored the Rismanchian study, and Dylan Arena, the publisher’s chief of data science, said solving the AI cheating problem has two prongs: Better detection helps, but it’s insufficient without a cultural shift inside classrooms. Students who believe their sole obligation is to produce a completed assignment, he said, will always find the path of least resistance. 

“There are kids who are here thinking, ‘I need to punch my ticket, I need to get this thing done,’ ” Arena said. “What’s the most expedient way to do that? Hand it over to this tool.”

But he suggested that something deeper is actually happening as AI colonizes students’ thinking: They’re losing their tolerance for “not knowing” something at any given moment, for what he calls the productive discomfort of sitting with a hard problem before the answer becomes clear. “It used to be that we would spend weeks not fully understanding something, and we would read, and we would write, and we would talk, and we would try, and we would write drafts — and they wouldn’t be quite right. But there is now an expectation that I either instantly know what I should do, or I should turn to a tool.”

A few teachers are experimenting with a more informal version of that transparency, built on relationships rather than documentation. 

Kannan described pulling aside a student last year whom he suspected, based on months of conversation, of leaning on AI for most of his schoolwork. “I knew that because I was taking the time to talk to him,” Kannan said. 

Rather than report the student, he asked him to run his own writing through the same chatbot he’d been using, in a bid to “reverse-engineer” and improve it. “Let’s actually ask questions to ChatGPT about how this could be stronger? How is this weak?”

Kannan has since built that move into his regular teaching: After students draft work with AI’s help, he sometimes has them ask the tool to critique the output, with students in effect “co-designing” assignments rather than simply handing them to a chatbot and turning in whatever pops out.

In the absence of such guidance, he said, students will do what they must to complete assignments. He recalled a student who’d been assigned an essay on the American dream by an English teacher. “There was really no instruction as to what that was, and she said, ‘I carried on a conversation with Gemini about what the American dream was, and that helped me understand it more.’ Given the demands of what the student was facing, she used AI as a partner, as an opportunity.”

, a longtime education researcher who has studied homework, noted that teachers have been assigning less homework for at least a decade — and that the rise of AI might reduce it further if teachers lose confidence that take‑home work is genuinely done by students. But it could also work the other way: If teachers believe that AI is a kind of all-purpose helper, they could actually assign more homework because they believe students “are going to be helped out and kind of semi-tutored,” he said.

Many school districts are trying to reframe the relationship between students and AI from the ground up. The Laguna Beach Unified School District in California, working with researchers at Stanford, found that AI policies had generated a culture of suspicion in which teachers spent their energy trying to catch cheaters — and students felt guilty for using AI.

Michael Morrison, the district’s former chief technology officer, called it “the absolute worst culture that I can think of.” 

In response, the district developed an add-on tool for Google Docs called , which asks students to disclose exactly how much and in what ways they use AI on a given assignment — a kind of nutritional label for AI-assisted work. Surveys suggest students generally use it honestly because the tool gives them something they didn’t have before: a sanctioned way to tell the truth.

Michael Keller, Laguna’s director of social-emotional support, noted that the district is already rethinking homework altogether for high school students, since 70% are athletes who devote an hour or more each day to practice and training. 

He sees the AI initiative as part of a broader commitment to treating students as full partners in their own learning. Monitoring how students are using AI, he said, is not the point. “We really view it as our moral obligation to make sure that we put trust and supportive relationships as the foundation to their learning experience,” he said.

For MIT’s Reich, transparency is necessary but not sufficient. The deeper challenge is motivational. “Kids are just natural boundary pushers,” he said.

And though they may not be able to articulate this, “the boundaries are what make them feel safe and loved and cared for.”

The problem, Reich argues, isn’t that students are weak-willed or morally deficient. It’s that the incentive structure of homework — grades for completion, not for thinking — has always been fragile. AI has simply exposed that fragility. 

“It’s not like homework is perfect,” he said. “Any teacher will tell you that some of the assignments are dumb or don’t work. But across the tens of millions of minutes of stuff that we ask kids to do in the afternoons, some of it’s got to be useful. And if we turn that spigot off, there’s just going to be less learning.”

In statehouses, school board meetings and academic journals, a familiar debate has resurfaced: Should math be taught through clear, repeatable algorithmic steps or with a focus on why the numbers behave the way they do?

This fight has flared up repeatedly for more than a century, with the tide turning back and forth through the years. Today, with and still haunting the nation’s classrooms, many in education are hoping that a resolution can herald a science of reading-type breakthrough that brings clarity and results.

Why does neither side ever win the math wars? Perhaps it’s because they’ve been fighting on the wrong battlefield.

The math wars focus on how to teach — the specific methods used to deliver a lesson. But to make serious improvements to math education, it is necessary to stop obsessing over the “how” and start focusing on the “when.”

In nearly every American math classroom, what students learn depends largely on their birthday. Ten-year-olds in fifth grade study decimals; the following year, they move on to percentages. The underlying assumption is that all students move in lockstep, mastering each year’s content on a rigid, chronological schedule.

This approach can work fine so long as students stay on track. But if they fall behind for whatever reason, the results can be devastating. That’s because math is, as Harvard cognitive psychologist Steven Pinker , “ruthlessly cumulative.” Each new skill builds on previous learning. There are no shortcuts. If students haven’t mastered , like multiplication, they will struggle with higher-level concepts like exponents. And once students have holes in their understanding, the traditional school structure — one teacher, 30 same-aged students, one lesson — makes it nearly impossible to catch up.

This isn’t a failure of teachers, or instructional materials. It is a failure in the design of the math classroom itself. It’s one reason why in every state, are lower in eighth grade than they are in the fourth — a trend that does not hold true in . As the content becomes more advanced and the prerequisites more demanding, those holes in the foundation eventually cave in.

To see why the “how” matters less than the “when,” consider an eighth-grade teacher introducing the Pythagorean theorem, the familiar formula for calculating the lengths of the sides of a right triangle.

One camp leans more toward a conceptual approach to teaching math: Students should consider the relationship between squares and right triangles, visualize why the relationship holds true and explore geometric proofs.

The other camp takes a more procedural approach. The teacher walks through the steps for solving a problem using the Pythagorean theorem, students practice, and the goal is that they can consistently find a missing side of a triangle on their own.

Both sides believe their approach is superior. But both sides are ignoring the most important question: Are the students ready for the lesson at all?

The Pythagorean theorem, like other math skills, builds on knowledge acquired over multiple years. Two of the most important prerequisite skills are classifying triangles and using exponents. Using more than a decade of student data from our work with schools across the country, our organization, , has found that if students know those two skills, they have a 72% chance of mastering the Pythagorean theorem. If they don’t, the likelihood is just 32%.

In other words, both sides in the math wars assume students are prepared for grade-level content. In reality, if eighth graders enter the year with unfinished learning that prevents them from accessing that eighth-grade content, the debate is moot.

In , a study my organization published with TNTP, researchers found that students are far more likely to succeed in algebra when grade-level instruction is paired with targeted support that addresses key lessons from prior grades. By implementing that approach, schools can more efficiently use instructional time — and, ultimately, better prepare students for grade-level content. This requires rethinking how schools organize math instruction in three key ways:

1. Map the progression of skills 

Math is less a checklist of grade-level standards than a web of interconnected skills. Teachers need a clear, shared understanding of how math skills build on one another across grades. Without that map, it’s impossible to know which unfinished learning actually matters for upcoming content and which gap is less urgent.

2. Use a diagnostic assessment to pinpoint where students are on that map

With that progression in place, diagnostic tools can identify the specific skills students are missing and how they connect to what they’re about to learn. That is far more useful for teachers than broad labels like “proficient” or “below grade level.”

3. Deliver intervention that connects unfinished learning to grade-level work

Finally, schools need to make time and use the right instructional tools to help students coherently address their unfinished learning so they can access grade-level content rather than fall further behind. Approaches rooted in either procedural or conceptual understanding may play a role in that process.

The path forward isn’t choosing a side in the math wars. It’s recognizing that the real obstacle to progress is an instructional system that ties learning to a calendar instead of what a student is academically ready to learn. 

Until policymakers and systems leaders rethink the “when,” the debate over the “how” is just academic — and the math wars will never end.

In fiscal year 2025, 1.59% of all federal spending was dedicated to supporting children from birth to age 3, down about 20% from its peak of 1.98% in 2021, when adjusted for inflation. 

That’s according to , an annual report from First Focus on Children, a nonprofit, bipartisan advocacy organization that seeks to elevate children and families in federal policy and budget decisions. 

For the 2025 edition, the authors tracked nearly 150 federal programs that invest in infants and toddlers, including mandatory programs such as Medicaid and SNAP and discretionary programs such as the Child Care and Development Fund, Head Start and Preschool Development Grants. Their findings, they said, confirm that the U.S. can and should be doing a lot better when it comes to babies.

And with major funding cuts to Medicaid and SNAP looming — programs which help to meet the basic needs of America’s youngest population and make up about half of all federal spending on babies — the next few years are only expected to be worse. 

“All the research shows this is the best investment you can possibly make for any age group, and yet we shortchange it,” said Bruce Lesley, president of First Focus and one of the report’s authors. “We make far fewer investments for kids — but particularly babies and toddlers — than we actually should be making.”

Is there a magic number of dollars to invest in young children? In an interview, Lesley and his co-authors said no. But they did note that while the world’s largest economy spends $1.59 out of every $100 on babies, it spends about $13 on defense.

Lesley also pointed out that children from birth to age 3 make up about of the U.S. population, meaning federal spending on them is not even half of their population share. And some would argue that infants and toddlers, being an especially vulnerable, wholly dependent group, warrant more than their fair share of spending. 

“Many things about human infants and toddlers are expensive,” said Elizabeth Gaines, founder and CEO of Children’s Funding Project, a nonprofit that works with states, communities and Native nations to support and expand funding for children. “They’re vulnerable creatures. We should be spending more of our resources on the most vulnerable of us.”

Many countries have better infrastructure for supporting children and families than the U.S. does, said Melissa Boteach, chief policy officer at Zero to Three, a national nonprofit advocating for infants and toddlers. Most have paid family and medical leave and universal health care systems, which the United States does not provide. That leaves many populations, including the youngest, to fend for themselves. 

“It’s paltry,” Boteach said of federal investment. “Babies are 100% of the future. They’re in a period where their brain development is so rapid, the investments have such a long-term impact, and yet we continue to underinvest in babies.”

While overall spending on babies is down about 20% over the past four years, discretionary spending has fared even worse. Since 2021, investment in programs that support child care, early learning, environmental safety and health for babies has declined by more than half — from 2.05% in 2021 to 0.96% in 2025. 

Many of these programs received historic levels of funding in 2021 as part of the , in response to the pandemic, making it an outlier year, acknowledged Chris Becker, vice president of budget policy and data analysis at First Focus and an author of the report. As a result of all that spending, he said, the child poverty rate in the U.S. was , lifting nearly 3 million children out of poverty and illustrating what could be possible if the nation invested more in its youngest citizens. 

“Child poverty exists. Food insecurity exists for babies. Homelessness exists for babies,” Becker said. “I don’t know what number solves that, but it is solvable.”

H.R. 1, also referred to as the “One Big Beautiful Bill Act,” which was signed into law by President Donald Trump in July 2025, may only increase the child poverty rate in the country, the authors of the Babies in the Budget report said. The legislation includes an estimated $1 trillion in cuts to Medicaid and SNAP, which will gut the largest sources of federal spending on children from birth to 3. It will then be up to individual states to decide whether to make up the cost difference in those programs or let benefits lapse.

Trump has cast himself as a “” president, promoting rhetoric about boosting birth rates and supporting parents — a message by Vice President JD Vance and other allies. But the legislation tells a different story: Federal investment in babies and toddlers remains limited, and the largest funding streams for young children face steep cuts.

“I don’t even like to think about what is going to come from SNAP and Medicaid cuts,” said Gaines of Children’s Funding Project. “Kids in states that step up may end up being OK. Kids from states that largely voted this administration into office may not be OK.”

The president’s — though not in any way binding and merely used as a blueprint so Congress can see what the administration wants to prioritize — included program and funding cuts across the board, said Becker of First Focus. But “babies are hit especially hard,” he said, with proposed elimination of dozens of programs serving babies and a reduction of more than $2.5 billion in discretionary spending.

There is a dichotomy between the administration’s words and actions on children and families, added Boteach. 

“Budgets are moral documents,” she said. “Show me your budget, and I’ll tell you what your priorities are. You can say your priorities are whatever you want, but the words are empty if they’re not reflected back in a document that actually puts resources into what you say your priorities are.”

Some leaders in the Trump administration have argued these programs for children are too costly, but Gaines doesn’t accept that as an answer.

“The resources are there. This is a nation of abundance,” said Gaines. “When people say the money is not there — it clearly is. Choices are being made about where we invest our dollars publicly.”

To illustrate her point, she noted that the One Big Beautiful Bill Act included a expansion of immigrant detention facilities. In 2021, the federal government spent on child care relief, and it was transformative for the field, she said. 

“I think if we asked the public whether they want their money on ICE detention centers or child care centers,” Gaines added, “they’d say child care centers.”

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.”