The 31 then turns into 63.
(You + 2 + 4 + 8 + 16 + 32) = 63
The 63 jumps to 127.
(You + 2 + 4 + 8 + 16 + 32 + 64) = 127
And the 127 turns into 255.
(You + 2 + 4 + 8 + 16 + 32 + 64 + 128) = 255
All that spread in just a few minutes of telling.
But how many people do you know with only 2 friends? Most of us have at least 10. Watch what happens when you tell 10 people, who tell 10 more, who tell 10 more, who tell 10 more.
(You + 10) = 11
(You + 10 + 100) = 111
(You + 10 + 100 + 1,000) = 1,111
(You + 10 + 100 + 1,000 + 10,000) = 11,111
(You + 10 + 100 + 1,000 + 10,000 + 100,000) = 111,111
(You + 10 + 100 + 1,000 + 10,000 + 100,000 + 1,000,000) = 1,111,111
One million, one hundred eleven thousand, one hundred and eleven! That’s how many YouTube hits we get in the first week of our Stop Homework video.
Sean and Sadie filmed it in our backyard, with me on a portable keyboard and Jaesang, Catalina, and Alistair singing, “I throw my backpack in the air sometimes / singing, No-no, no more homework! / I wanna take a break and live my life / not just slave away every day and night. / We told you once, now we tell you twice, / come on stand with us, we’ll protect your rights!”
Then Sadie cued me, and I said, “Hi, I’m Sam Warren and I’m suing the schools to stop homework. If you’re a student in LA Unified and you feel that there’s just too much homework, then I’ve got you covered. That’s what a class action lawsuit is. I sue. You get to be in my class.”
Then I asked them all for a dollar.
The following week the revolution starts. All across the country, kids go on homework strikes. Teachers send us emails begging us to drop the lawsuit. Livingston Gulch asks Judge Otis Wright the Third to shut down saveourchildhood.org. He claims it’s interfering with students’ rights to an education.
Guess what case he cites. Goss v. Lopez.
Mr. Kalman counters that our website is an exercise in freedom of speech. He cites a different Supreme Court decision, Tinker v. Des Moines Independent School District, which gave students the right to free speech as long as it didn’t disrupt classwork.
“But it does,” Livingston Gulch argues. “Because of their website, kids are refusing to do their homework.”
“Homework,” Judge Otis Wright the Third says, “not classwork.”
So the website stays up. And the money pours in. By the end of the week we’ve raised a hundred thousand dollars!
On Sunday Mom runs an open house for one of her listings. I go with her because it’s a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house with a nice-size yard. “A family house,” Mom says as we walk past her picture on the Coldwell Banker sign that announces: JENNY WARREN, TOP SALES FIVE YEARS IN A ROW.
“Nothing sells a family house like the scent of cookies and the sight of kids,” she says.
So I’m in this remodeled kitchen doing homework and trying not to eat all the cookies she baked when who shows up—out of his suit and tie—but Mr. Hill. I didn’t know he was looking to buy a house in the neighborhood.
“Hello, Mr. Hill,” I say.
“Hello, Sam,” he says, all friendly just like that time at Trader Joe’s.
“I didn’t know you were looking to buy a house in the neighborhood.”
“I’m not. I’m looking for your mom.”
“She’s showing a family around the backyard. Would you like a cookie?”
“No, thanks,” he says, patting his waistline, which looks pretty thin to me, but what do I know? Soon Mom comes in with a young couple and their five-year-old. The wife really does have a big waistline. I think she’s expecting kid number two.
I offer the five-year-old a cookie. He doesn’t pat his waistline. The mom and dad each take one and then say, “We’ll have our realtor call you,” which is always a good sign.
When they leave, I hear Mr. Hill and Mom exchange hellos.
“I didn’t know you were looking to buy in the neighborhood, Mr. Hill.”
“I’m not. I was looking for you.”
Mom offers him a cookie. I could’ve saved her the trouble.
Then she waves to the young couple with the five-year-old kid as they’re getting into their car.
“They seem like a nice family,” Mr. Hill says.
“One child and one more on the way,” Mom says.
“They ask about the local schools?”
“Everyone asks about the local schools.”
“Did you mention our test scores?”
The smile disappears from Mom’s face, and you can feel the temperature dropping in this nice three-bedroom, two-bathroom house.
“There’s a banner on the school’s fence,” Mr. Hill says. “REED MIDDLE SCHOOL. A PLATINUM PERFORMING SCHOOL. Very few schools can boast test scores that high. A badge of honor for the community. It’s what house hunters see on their way to an open house.”
“A strong selling point,” Mom says.
“I’m sure your boss agrees. I hope you’ll remember it, Mrs. Warren, when you deposit your next commission. And before your son heads back to court.”
I look up at Mom, but she turns away to watch Mr. Hill go.
11
We Build Our Case
That article Alistair read about the multitasking brain said people think better while tossing a ball. So on Sunday afternoon at Mr. Kalman’s, we toss around a Nerf football, along with ideas on why homework has to go. Sadie takes notes.
“It makes us fat,” Alistair says.
“How so?” Sean asks.
“We spend too much time at our desks. We should be outside exercising.”
I high-five him for that. Even parents have time for exercise.
Alistair tosses the Nerf to Catalina. “It makes us poor,” she says. “All the time we spend doing homework, we could be earning money.”
“We’re minors, Catalina,” Sean says. “The law says we can’t
