“Also, Justice Fitzgerald is generally thought of as a swing vote, meaning he can go either way.”
“Just don’t call him that to his face,” Mr. Kalman adds. “He hates being called the swing vote.”
We decide to put Fitzgerald in the “Not Sure” column.
Sean also picked Justice DeFazio. “A libertarian,” he says.
“There’s a librarian on the Supreme Court?”
“No, Alistair, that word is li-ber-TAR-ian. It’s someone who wants to keep the government out of our private lives.”
“In other words—”
“On our side!”
I can see why Sadie fought for Eleanor Cohen. “Cohen’s the youngest of the Supreme Court justices. First woman dean of Harvard Law School and something of a rebel. When she was thirteen she demanded equal time for bar and bat mitzvahs—equality for boys and girls—and she got the rabbi to compromise. So it seems she’d favor a nation of children fighting for their rights. But—”
Alistair and I exchange a look. “There’s always a but.”
“Here it comes,” Sadie continues. “Her mom was a teacher who once made a fifth-grade girl cry.”
“Because she didn’t do her homework?” Catalina asks.
“Because she didn’t try her best.”
We all stop to think about that. If I didn’t try my best on something, and a teacher called me out for that, I’d think she was a good teacher. But if she made me feel bad after I did try my best, I’d think she was a monster.
Mr. Kalman asks Sadie where she’d put Justice Cohen.
“Have to go with ‘Not Sure’ on this one.”
All eyes turn to Jaesang, who holds up Stuart Renfro.
“Not much to say about this guy,” Jaesang says. “His father was a lawyer for—guess who.”
We all shrug.
“The San Francisco Board of Education.”
“Heaven help us!”
Jaesang writes him next to Reynolds and Williams.
When Catalina speaks, it’s like the topic is “My Hero.” “Cecilia Suerte grew up in a tenement neighborhood near Yankee Stadium. She’s a big Yankees fan. Her parents were Puerto Rican and spoke only Spanish at home. When Cecilia was nine, her papi died of heart disease. Her mami had to raise Cecilia and her brother, Juan, alone. She bought them an Encyclopedia Britannica and made them read one page every night. Cecilia’s favorite book series was Nancy Drew. Her favorite TV show was Perry Mason. She was on the debate team, like you guys, and grew up to be, well, you know. Oh, and Juan, he grew up to be a doctor.”
Mr. Kalman looks at us, and Sadie says, “Nancy Drew? Perry Mason? The Yankees?”
“On our side,” we all say.
Catalina smiles and adds Suerte’s name to “On Our Side.” But Mr. Kalman erases “Suerte” and writes her in the middle, under “Not Sure.”
“What are you doing?” Sadie asks.
“Overriding you. That encyclopedia on the shelf might come back to bite us.”
Then Catalina gets up. “Just because we don’t want homework doesn’t mean we don’t want to learn,” she says.
And she puts Justice Suerte back under “On Our Side.”
Next up: Gaylor S. Rauch.
“The newest justice on the court,” I tell them. “Thinks there’s no place closer to God than a trout stream. Loves to spend time with his kids in nature. And in 2016, he upheld a kid’s right to burp in class.”
“Sam,” Catalina says, “think about which president picked him. Put him under ‘Heaven Help Us’!”
“He’s for freedom of speech,” Sean says, adding a burp for emphasis. “Put him ‘On Our Side’!”
“Sam, he’s your justice,” Mr. Kalman says. “What do you think?”
I have to go with my gut on this one. On one side is the trout stream and the burping boy. Those give me a warm, fuzzy feeling. On the other is the fact that he’s brand-new on the court, so we don’t really know what he’s thinking.
Altogether it adds up to . . .
“Not Sure.”
“My justice, Rachel B. Rosenburg, was one of nine women in her law school class. The dean said that women shouldn’t be there because they were taking spots that men should have. But Rachel B. Rosenburg persevered and graduated first in her class. She’s the oldest member of the court but still works out every day in the gym—which is more than I can say for myself—and she’s never missed a case. She fights hard for the rights of women and children. She adored her husband and was devastated when he died. But she went back to work, because her other love has always been the law.”
Mr. Kalman uncaps a dry erase marker. The only sound in the room is the squeaky noise it makes as he writes “Rachel Braun Rosenburg” under “On Our Side.”
Nine justices. Three “On Our Side,” three “Not Sure,” three “Heaven Help Us.” We knew it was going to be a long shot.
Mr. Kalman, who took notes on everything we said, hands his legal pad to Sadie and tells her, “Type these up for me.”
Sadie looks stunned. Every page on the legal pad is full. “What am I, your secretary?”
“Consider it community service. It’ll look good on your college applications.”
That night when we’re all in pajamas and ready for bed, Alistair asks Mr. Kalman for a story about what it was like when he was a kid. Jaesang, Catalina, and I want to hear too, so we all gather around him and listen.
“As childhoods go, Alistair,” Mr. Kalman says, “mine was delightfully dangerous.”
“How so?”
“There were no adults around.”
“You were an orphan, Mr. Kalman?” I ask.
“Just an independent kid, Sam. My parents owned a deli in the Bronx and were working all the time. I was more or less left alone.”
“How did you get to see your friends?”
“By walking out the back door and into the alley. There, I’d meet up with my pals. We’d head off to wage daily battle, almost to the death.”
“You were in a gang?”
“More like a team. We played stickball. The Jewish kids against the Italians or the Irish. And what we couldn’t settle with sticks, we’d settle with
