Mr. Kalman said, “We don’t need your parents. I’m filing as your prochain ami. It’s French for ‘next friend.’”
Next friend is the legal term for a grownup who takes your side. Every kid ought to have a prochain ami, don’t you think?
“According to the brief,” Judge Otis Wright the Third says, “you are seeking class action status in a complaint against the Board of Education on the grounds that homework is unconstitutional?”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.”
“Forgive my asking, but is your license to practice law current?”
“I sent the check in on Friday.”
Mr. Kalman winks at me. I guess that means his license is current.
“Well, for me to certify the class, I have to make a few findings. First, can you afford to see this matter through?”
Catalina barrels forward. I’ve been watching a lot of legal shows on TV lately. She’s supposed to say, “Your Honor, may I approach?” But she’s a little overeager and steps right up.
“Here are our financials, sir,” she says, handing him a bank statement from the official Save Our Childhood bank account we opened.
Our total take from project flipping so far: $12,247.50. (We did the bake sale, too; Alistair’s brownies sold for two bucks apiece.) A big number if you ask me, but Otis Wright the Third doesn’t seem so impressed.
He looks the bank statement over, then glances up at Mr. Kalman. “I’m assuming you’re taking the case pro bono.”
That’s another cool legal term. It means taking the case for free. Literally, “for good” in Latin.
Mr. Kalman nods. I knew he’d never charge his across-the-street neighbor.
“That’s fine if you win. But if you lose—and lose again on appeal—you’ll have to pay attorney’s fees to him.”
Judge Wright points to a very thin man in a very green suit, the snake in the room. Not literally a snake, but one of those people who can stand so still, you hardly know they’re there. We didn’t even notice him before the judge pointed him out.
He’s Livingston Gulch, the lawyer for the Board of Education.
Sadie tells Judge Otis Wright the Third that if he grants us class action status, we’ll raise more money. “From the class itself.”
“How so?” the judge asks.
“According to the latest census, there are fifty million students in K through twelve public schools across the country. We’ll ask each of them for a dollar. Even if we get just ten percent, it ought to see us through.”
Livingston Gulch smiles but doesn’t show any teeth. He just stands there very still. Watching. Waiting.
“Which brings me to the next question,” Judge Otis Wright the Third says, “numerosity of the class. How many of those students are in the Los Angeles Unified District?”
To get class action status, you have to show that a lot of other people could make the same complaint. Then it makes sense for just one case to represent them all.
“Seven hundred thousand,” Sadie says.
In other words, my team’s so big, they can’t all fit in one courtroom.
“What do you see as the common damages, Mr. Kalman?”
“Violation of child labor laws and privacy rights. Emotional hardship due to unwarranted stress. And unequal protection under the US Constitution.”
“Claims you believe are typical of the class, not just your client?”
“We do, Your Honor.”
A green sleeve goes up—Livingston Gulch is raising his hand.
“Mr. Gulch?” the judge says like he’s calling on a student.
When Gulch speaks, the words tiptoe out of his mouth one by one.
“I move to strike.”
“Strike what?”
“The entire premise. This hearing. I move to strike.”
“On what grounds?”
“Relevance, Your Honor. The boy’s claim has no business in federal court. In 2002, Board of Education v. Earls, the Supreme Court affirmed the power of local school boards to choose which courses to offer, which textbooks to teach”—he snaps his head toward Mr. Kalman—“whose urine to test, and, by implication, how much homework to give. Therefore, I move to strike.”
Judge Otis Wright the Third looks at Mr. Kalman.
Who looks like he just stepped in something nasty and is afraid to peek at his shoe. But the look doesn’t last long.
“In 1969, Tinker v. Des Moines Independent School District,” Mr. Kalman says, “the justices held that, and I quote: ‘Vigilant protection of constitutional freedoms is nowhere more vital than in the community of American schools.’ In other words, if the schools take away students’ constitutional rights, the federal government can step in and stop them. They did it in Goss. They did it in Tinker. They did it in Brown. And, if necessary, I believe they’ll do it here.”
Have I mentioned how glad I am that I live across the street from this man?
Livingston Gulch raises his hand again.
“Yes, Mr. Gulch?”
“One swallow does not make a summer.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Aristotle. Just as it takes more than one swallow in the June sky to announce the arrival of summer, so it takes more than one anxious, distractible child to make reasonable people believe that homework is bad for all. For every child like this, I can show you thousands more who cope with the demands of the modern world just fine.”
He’s ten feet away from me. Why do I feel his hand inside my guts, squeezing?
“Well, Mr. Gulch,” Justice Otis Wright the Third says, “you’re going to have to. In the matter of Warren v. Board of Education, class action status is hereby granted.”
His gavel clops the block on his desk. Livingston Gulch turns to us. “I’ll see you on the next available date.” And he slithers out of the courtroom. Really, his feet never leave the floor.
“Now what?” Sadie asks.
“Now we notify the class.”
10
Going Viral
According to Catalina, there’s this concept in math called the power of doubling. It means you can spread the word really, really fast. You tell 2 people about something and they each tell 2 more. That’s 7 people who know.
(You + 2 + 4) = 7
Those 4 each tell 2 and now 15 people know.
(You + 2 + 4 + 8) = 15
The 8 each tell 2 more and now 31 people know.
(You +
