The Rise of the Four-Day School Week Has Reached 43 States — and the Research Is More Complicated Than You Think

Like most changes in rural policy, it began quietly. A small district’s superintendent suggested switching to a four-day schedule because he was fed up with teachers leaving for larger cities. Parents gave a shrug. It was approved by the school board. Subsequently, a different district followed suit. And one more. The four-day school week, which is now implemented in 43 states, mostly in areas where the closest grocery store is a 20-minute drive, stopped being an anomaly sometime between that first quiet vote and this spring.

The model seems to have grown more quickly than anyone was interested in studying it. On a Friday morning, you’ll typically find a locked cafeteria, an empty parking lot, and one or two janitors in a four-day district. Children are working part-time jobs that wouldn’t be permitted in larger cities, or they are at home or at a grandparent’s house. A few people are reading. Many aren’t. The fact that not all days off are equal and that research is beginning to support this is part of what makes the debate so awkward.

Children who started kindergarten between 2014 and 2016 were tracked through third grade in a recent Oregon study. The four-day and five-day students’ average math and English scores were strikingly similar. Averages, however, conceal things. Further investigation revealed that the students most negatively impacted by the shortened week were gifted learners, White students, general education students, and above-median performers. Students in special education, those from low-income families, and struggling students did not exhibit the same quantifiable decline. It’s an uncomfortable discovery that doesn’t easily fit into a press release.

The policy has become a slow-burning battle between state governments attempting to maintain control over instructional time and rural districts that require flexibility. In Oklahoma, when the state tried to rein it in, districts responded by shifting to “virtual Fridays” — a workaround that researchers found often involved minimal actual teaching.

More than 100 districts recorded at least two complete weeks of virtual days in 2022–2023, according to a conservative think tank. Eventually, a law restricting that type of improvisation was passed by the state.

In 2024, Missouri went one step further and mandated that larger districts obtain voter approval prior to implementing or maintaining a four-day schedule. Since then, the Independence School District, a 14,000-student system close to Kansas City, has filed a lawsuit, claiming the regulations unfairly single out particular districts. Last year, a court decision stopped New Mexico’s own attempt to require longer calendars. Lawmakers in Arkansas have proposed a compromise that links instructional days to school performance evaluations. It’s messy, and there’s no indication that it will get any better anytime soon.

As we watch all of this happen, the question of how much we still don’t know remains. The education researcher Emily Morton, who was cited in a lot of the recent work, put it simply: even if a district’s test scores remain unchanged, neighboring schools may be improving, which subtly transforms “flat” into “falling behind.” She cautioned that local data alone will never be sufficient to address the true question. It’s difficult to ignore the fact that the majority of districts making this decision have the fewest resources to assess if they made the right decision. As of right now, 43 states are keeping an eye on one another while they wait for someone else to determine the true cost of this experiment.