She walks past Jaesang, Alistair, and me in the sitting room and opens the door to Mr. Kalman’s room, where he’s still asleep in the king-size bed.
She’s already dressed in her fancy Supreme Court clothes. She holds a large envelope in her hand.
Through the open door I hear her say, “I typed up your notes.”
Mr. Kalman sits up and blinks away sleep.
“I’m worried about Justice Cohen,” Sadie starts in. “Both her brothers are teachers. On CNN this morning they showed a big crowd of teachers against us.”
“Is there coffee?” Mr. Kalman asks.
I get up and brew a pot in the suite’s mini-kitchen. As soon as it’s ready, I take a cup to Mr. Kalman, who’s busy picking out clothes for his return appearance at the Supreme Court. I see him hesitate between a blue tie and an orange one.
I hand him his coffee and point to the orange one.
“I think you’ll be able to swing Justice Fitzgerald,” Sadie says. “Sean found out that the Supreme Court of Canada gave one family the right to refuse homework.”
Mr. Kalman sips the coffee, nods, and smiles at me as if to say, Nicely brewed, Sam.
Then he opens a small box on the table and pulls out a pair of silver cufflinks, which he introduces as “my lucky pair.”
“Did you wear them last time?” I ask.
“No, those I gave away.”
Mr. Kalman heads toward the bathroom. Sadie follows him, still talking. “And Sam was reading the Bill of Rights yesterday. He wanted to know what counts as excessive fines. As in, excessive fines shall not be imposed? And I said they mean money, and he said—tell him what you said, Sam.”
“It could also mean time, couldn’t it? Because with all the time we spend on homework, it feels like an excessive fine.”
“Think you could use that?”
Mr. Kalman stops and turns around. “Sadie,” he says, “I appreciate the help, but at the moment you’re infringing on one of my Fourth Amendment rights.”
“Which one?” she asks.
“Privacy.”
And he shuts the bathroom door.
Downstairs in the buffet line, there’s a traffic jam of trays. Alistair is waiting for his fourth waffle, and Catalina, a strict vegetarian, is making the omelet chef swear on his entire line of maternal ancestors that no ham touched the pan. Eventually the rest of us catch up, but with so many choices—bagels, bear claws, French toast, bacon, cereal, and those omelets with the infinite add-ins—I’m just not that hungry. Neither is Sadie. There’s a single croissant on her tray. I think we’re both too nervous to eat.
Mom has saved a big table, and just as we’re sitting down to it, Mr. Kalman steps into the dining room looking very convincing, I’ve got to say, in a blue suit and orange tie.
“Mr. Kalman,” Mom says, “you look like you’re on your way to court.”
“That’s exactly where I’m headed. There’s a briefing with the clerk in twenty minutes.”
Sadie shoves a bite of croissant into her mouth, takes a quick sip of juice, and springs up. Mr. Kalman looks at Sadie and seems sorry to have to tell her, “For attorneys only. You have to be a member of the Supreme Court Bar to come to the briefing.”
I guess he remembers the rules, after all.
“I’ll see you all up there, though. Ten o’clock sharp.”
Sadie sighs and sinks back down. But then Mr. Kalman calls her over. He pulls her off to the side, and I lean back in my chair.
Not snooping, just stretching.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to shop,” he says.
He tucks some folded-up money into her jacket pocket.
“Mr. Kalman,” she says, “what for?”
“Today’s your birthday, isn’t it? December eleventh?”
Oh no. We totally forgot Sadie’s birthday!
“Who told you?”
“Sean did. He came to wish me luck this morning. Said the day was bound to be lucky because it’s the day you were born.”
Sadie smiles. “But you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“It’s not every day a girl turns eighteen.”
Win or lose today, I think to myself, we’d better take her out to celebrate.
Mr. Kalman starts to head off, but Sadie calls after him.
“Mr. Kalman, wait!”
He turns back.
“What’s it like? Arguing in front of the Supreme Court?”
He thinks about it for a second. “Ever play baseball, Sadie?”
“I did two years of Little League when I was younger.”
“Well, imagine standing at home plate, only you’re not facing one pitcher, but nine of them, from all sides. Instead of baseballs, they’re throwing questions that you probably haven’t thought about, and just as you start to answer one, another one comes from the right. You turn to answer that and a new one flies in from the left, and then from the center, two more. You’re at bat for only thirty minutes, but the questions keep sailing in from every side, and you can’t let a single one go by because the justices of the Supreme Court, well, they only throw strikes.”
“Wow. You must be nervous.”
“I am a little. But as long as I start out with the right words, everything will be fine. ‘Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the court . . .’ That’s how you always begin. Once those words are spoken, the rest will follow.”
He turns and walks away.
“Good luck today,” she calls after him. “We’ll be there watching.”
He puts up his hand to wave but doesn’t look back.
After breakfast we all go up to change. My dad helps Jaesang with his tie, and Mom helps Catalina brush her hair—she wants to wear it down today like Justice Suerte wore hers in an old yearbook picture Catalina found. Alistair is looking mighty slick, I have to say, in his Hollywood Suit Outlet suit and thin black tie. His hair is all spiky because he borrowed too much gel from Sean, so while we’re in the elevator I swipe some off his head and give my hair a lift too.
When we step out of the hotel, we find Sadie pacing back and forth like it’s 9:55 instead of 9:25.
“Come on,” she says, “we don’t want to be late.”
Dad motions to a cab driver at the front of a line, but the hotel doorman gives us some advice. “If you’re heading up to the Supreme Court today, you’re better off on the metro. Your homework case is drawing a huge crowd.” He tells us to take the Orange Line from Foggy Bottom to Capitol South. We’ll be there in thirteen minutes.
We speed walk to the metro station and head downstairs to the trains. As we’re passing through the turnstile, I see a pair of transit cops walking their beat. Alistair sees them too. He throws up his empty hands and shouts:
“No french fries!”
A breeze from the tracks lifts Catalina’s hair. Soon we’re on our train.
When we showed up in Lafayette Park for the march, there were a lot of people, and it brought a flock of hummingbirds to my stomach. But this crowd, the one in front of the Supreme Court, makes that crowd look like Playmobil people and those birds feel like origami cranes. What I see in front of me now are two armies facing each other from behind barricades, and what I feel is a murder (perfect word, by the way) of crows pecking my guts out.
A kid holding up one end of a NO HOMEWORK banner recognizes me from YouTube.
“Hey, there he is! There’s Sam Warren!”
A boys’ soccer team calls out, “Give ’em hell, Sam!” and a whole Girl Scout troop screams, “We love you, Sam!”
What’s a boy to do but blush and wave? And then I see a familiar face in the crowd. A face I can hardly believe is here because it’s so far from home.
“Mr. Trotter? What are you doing here?”
“Pulling for you, Sam. Imagine what the school orchestra could do if the kids had more practice time.”
I reach across the line of Washington, DC, police officers, and I fist bump my music teacher.
In case you’ve never been inside the US Supreme Court—and not a lot of people have—let me try to tell you what it’s like. You know how when you visit a cathedral, a concert hall, or a really old forest, no grownup has to tell you to settle down? The place itself lets you know that it would appreciate a little silence. And you naturally respect that. Maybe, because so much has already gone on there before you showed up, you just want to be still. You want to take it all in.
That’s the feeling I get when we walk into the Supreme Court. All the noise from the demonstrators outside gets swallowed up by the bronze doors, and we hear the clink of coins and keys and the thud of cell phones being dropped into security trays as we pass through the metal detectors; then there’s the squeak of shoes on the polished marble floor and the hushed conversation. But even those sounds fade away as we go from the lobby into the courtroom itself, where I get that cathedral feeling, and for some reason it makes me feel small.
But also big with the possibility that we’ll win.
Small and big at the same time.
Maybe the justices were right to keep things quiet on the plaza. From the marble steps to the bronze doors and beyond, there’s something sacred about this place.
I look up and see twin American flags, one in the left corner and one in the right, and I think of the two statues seated outside, Contemplation of Justice and Authority of Law. Between the flags are four marble columns with a red velvet curtain behind them. And in front of the curtain is a long raised table with nine empty chairs.
The bench.
Facing that long table are two smaller ones for the two opposing teams: the appellants(us) and the appellees(them).
There’s a lectern between the tables, where Mr. Kalman is going to stand when it’s his turn. From there he’ll look up at a hanging clock. According to the Supreme Court rules, you have thirty minutes to make your arguments. The justices can interrupt you as often as they want, but when those thirty minutes are done, so are you.
That’s more pressure than penalty kicks in soccer, or the last thirty minutes of a standardized test.
And guess who’s already seated at the appellees’ table, looking calm and confident in his green suit.
Livingston Gulch.
Mr. Kalman hasn’t come in yet, though. He’s probably still with the clerk, going over procedures.
We all find seats together in the visitors’ section—Mom, Dad, Sadie, Sean, Jaesang, Alistair, Catalina, and me.
I look up at the official clock: 9:55. I look over at Sadie, who mouths, “Where’s Mr. Kalman?” I shrug because I don’t know.
When the clock turns to 9:59, I start to worry.
“He should be here by now,” I say, and just then we hear the marshal of the court pound his gavel.
“The Honorable Chief Justice, and the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States,” he announces.
It’s not like in the lower courts, where you spend forever waiting around. The Supreme Court starts on time. And it’s not like the lower courts, where someone has to say, “All rise.” All automatically rise as the red velvet curtain parts in two places. From the opening on the left, four justices step out wearing fancy robes: Justice Fitzgerald, Justice Williams, Justice Rosenburg, and Justice Renfro.
Then the next four—the junior ones—step out from the right: Justice DeFazio, Justice Suerte, Justice Cohen, and my guy, Justice Rauch.
Finally, from the center, Chief Justice Reynolds appears. Alistair can’t contain himself. “That’s the Chief! I picked him!”
As soon as the Chief sits, the marshal of the court says, “Oyez, oyez, oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the court is now sitting. God save the United States and this Honorable Court!”
How about God save my lawyer? Where in DC is he?
I look desperately at Mom and Dad, but they just shake their heads.
What happens in the next sixty minutes is so crazy-fast that if I write it down, you’re not going to believe that a boy who scores in the 80th percentile on his standardized tests could remember it all word for word. So I’m about to do what teachers tell us never to do. I’m going to copy and paste.
Remember that app I mentioned, PocketJustice? The one that has transcripts and recordings of actual Supreme Court cases? Well, here’s the transcript from mine. And if you don’t believe me, get the app yourself. It’s free on Google Play and the Apple store. You can listen along as you read. (The stuff in parentheses isn’t part of the transcript. It’s just me making things clear.)
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Thank you, Marshal. We’ll hear arguments this morning in Case 12-09121, Warren v. Board of Education. Mr. Avi Kalman filing as prochain ami to Samuel E. Warren, a minor.
Mr. Kalman, you may begin . . .
Mr. Kalman?
Is Mr. Kalman in the courtroom?
Was he at your briefing this morning, Clerk?
CLERK OF THE COURT: Yes, he was, Mr. Chief Justice.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Did he mention that he would be late to arguments?
CLERK OF THE COURT: No, sir, he did not.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Well, we can’t proceed without the named attorney. Is the appellant here? Mr. Sam Warren?
SAM WARREN: Um, that’s me, sir.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Are you prepared to begin arguments in this case?
(Everyone laughs, which doesn’t make me feel very good.)
SAM WARREN: No. But my sister is.
(At this point Sadie shrivels up, practically on the floor. Sean and Catalina have to lift her to standing.)
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Miss Warren?
SADIE WARREN: I, uh, Mr. Chief Justice, if you’ll just give our counsel a little more time—
JUSTICE RAUCH: Would you like us to sit here while he waits for an Uber?
(More laughter from the crowd.)
SADIE WARREN: No, I . . . I mean, he should be here any minute. He has to be here.
JUSTICE RENFRO: The sensible thing to do in a situation like this is to postpone the case. We’ll hear it in six months.
UNIDENTIFIED BOY FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: Six months? The school year’ll be over by then. And the homework in seventh grade is even worse!
(That’s Alistair, as I’m sure you can guess.)
JUSTICE ROSENBURG: Why not let the young lady make the arguments?
(Sadie’s head starts rocking side to side like crazy.)
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Because, Justice Rosenburg, that would be a violation of the Supreme Court rules.
(Gulch has his own copy. Of course. He reads aloud from it.)
“Only lawyers who have been admitted to the Bar of the Supreme Court may argue before it.”
(But guess what! I have my own copy too! I jump up and read.)
SAM WARREN: “An attorney not admitted to the Bar of this Court but otherwise eligible for admission under Rule 5.1 may be permitted to argue pro hac vice [pro hawk vee’chay]. ‘For this occasion only.’”
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Rule 5.1—“To qualify for admission to the Bar of this Court, an applicant must have been admitted to practice in the highest court of a State, Commonwealth, Territory or Possession . . . for a period of at least three years.”
SAM WARREN: She has practiced law in the highest court of a state. She’s been doing mock trial since ninth grade. And that takes place in a federal courthouse.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: “Must not have been the subject of any adverse disciplinary action pronounced or in effect during that three-year period—”
SAM WARREN: She’s never been suspended. I have, but—
LIVINGSTON GULCH: “And must appear to the Court to be of good moral and professional character.”
(Okay, so Sadie has purple hair. But she’s dressed really nicely. And the justices shrug like they’re fine with the way she looks.)
LIVINGSTON GULCH: “Applicant must also have attained the legal age of adulthood in the state where he or she resides.” That’s California. She’s got to be eighteen.
SAM WARREN: She is eighteen. Today’s her birthday.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: We’d need proof of some kind. A birth certificate. The long form.
UNIDENTIFIED MAN FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: I’m her father. And I’m telling you it’s her birthday. My girl is eighteen today.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: I’d have to hear it from the lady who gave birth to her.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: We’ll accept a sworn affidavit from her mom.
(This is a problem. Sadie looks at Mom, who stands up.)
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: Mr. Chief Justice, her mother is no longer living. But as her stepmom since the girl was six, I can assure you that Sadie Warren is of excellent moral character and a blessing to her family. She stands up for what’s right. She’s true to herself. She’s an inspiration to me.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: And that’s your unbiased opinion?
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: Yes, it is.
(Sadie turns all the way around and looks at Mom. They keep looking at each other until the Chief chimes in.)
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: All right, then, let’s admit her to the Bar and get the proceedings underway.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: What about the fee?
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: What fee?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: “The fee for admission to the Bar and a certificate bearing the seal of the Court is $200, payable to the United States Supreme Court.” Rule 5.5.
(At this point Dad reaches into his wallet, but he doesn’t have that much cash on him. Alistair pulls out his twenty, and Jaesang comes up with another twenty, and other people start pitching in, but then I see Sadie reaching into her pocket and unfolding two crisp hundred-dollar bills. Her face is all flushed like she’s trying to figure something out.)
SADIE WARREN: Do you take cash?
(She hands the clerk two hundred-dollar bills—the birthday money Mr. Kalman gave her. Then she walks up to the lectern, and the marshal sets the time clock to thirty minutes. It starts to count down, but she just stands there. Mom and Dad each give her a thumbs-up, but that doesn’t help. She looks at me, and I give her this begging-little-brother look. That doesn’t help either.
Chief Justice Reynolds clears his throat and nods at the clock, which is down to 29:30 and counting. How much more of our time is she going to waste?!
She’s practically dripping sweat from her upper lip. But it’s not anger sweat this time. It’s terror sweat.
Down to 28:50 . . . I give her a look—not like, You can do this, Sadie; I believe in you, but more like, Come on, already!
Then I elbow her hard in the arm.
She takes a deep breath and turns to the bench. I go and sit down, this time at the appellants’ table—in case she needs another elbow.)
SADIE WARREN: Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court, this, um—
(That word again. But she takes a minute. She thinks it through.)
This is a case about the rights of children to have a childhood. We come before you because one sixth-grade boy, my brother, stood up for that right by refusing to do his homework. As you’ve seen in the days leading up to this hearing, over a million school-age children and their parents have stood with us to ask that you put an end to a practice that not only violates our nation’s Constitution but harms its future.
JUSTICE RAUCH: How is homework harmful to the country’s future?
SADIE WARREN: There’s too much of it, Justice Rauch. Most of it is quite dull. It takes away the downtime, the dream time, if you will, of the next generation’s developing minds.
JUSTICE DEFAZIO: I thought that homework was designed to reinforce what was covered in class. A ten- or fifteen-minute exercise.
SADIE WARREN: It may have been once upon a time, Justice DeFazio. But the fact is, today’s teachers are so stressed by Common Core and the high-stakes testing that goes with it, they use homework to get done what they can’t do in class.
JUSTICE FITZGERALD: What’s wrong with that?
SADIE WARREN: It doesn’t work, for one thing. Kids are too burnt out by the time they get home. The evidence shows that in elementary school, homework has a negative impact on student outcomes. In middle school it’s neutral. And in high school there may be a slight advantage, but at a great cost.
JUSTICE SUERTE: Cost to what?
SADIE WARREN: Childhood.
JUSTICE RAUCH: How can we be sure that this homework epidemic, which you imply plagues the youth, is real? Where’s the proof?
SADIE WARREN: We included several homework surveys in our brief, Justice Rauch.
JUSTICE RENFRO: Kids might exaggerate their answers on the survey. We need empirical evidence.
UNIDENTIFIED BOY FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: You want evidence? Take a look at this.
(Alistair jumps up and approaches the nine robed justices. The marshal blocks his way. But Alistair does a quick fake left and then steps right to get around him. He rolls up his left sleeve and continues.)
Math book pages forty-five to fifty, odds and evens. Plus worksheet on decimals.
(He rolls up his right.)
World History. Read chapter four. Do Skills Practice on page eighty-seven.
(He pulls up his shirt.)
Figure out how many steps it took for a forty-niner to walk from Missouri to California. Gimme a break! She doesn’t even say how big the guy’s feet are.
(He pulls up his shirt even more. Now he’s reading upside down.)
Spelling test on Friday. Geography quiz Monday. Finish Black Ships Before Troy by Tuesday. Oh, and this reminder about my science project.
(He yanks his shirt all the way over his head and—heaven help us!—flashes the United States Supreme Court. Across his chest he wrote “Solar Power.”)
And that’s just one weekend!
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Please, don’t show us another.
(The time clock is down to seventeen minutes.)
SADIE WARREN: Furthermore, we find that homework is a health hazard. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends sixty minutes of vigorous daily exercise to combat childhood obesity, which has tripled in this country since 1960. Homework is just another sedentary activity that lasts one to four hours a day.
JUSTICE ROSENBURG: Don’t they have PE anymore?
SADIE WARREN: Yes, Justice Rosenburg, but the physical education programs have been severely cut back. Many schools offer it only once a week.
JUSTICE FITZGERALD: What about recess?
SADIE WARREN: Recess is used as a privilege by some teachers and is taken away when students don’t turn in their homework.
JUSTICE RAUCH: Your concern about the health hazards seems to be far-fetched.
UNIDENTIFIED BOY FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: No way is it far-fetched! Take a look at this!
(Alistair drags his backpack up and plops it on the marble floor in front of the bench.)
My backpack. I brought it all the way from Los Angeles to show you. Had to pay an excess baggage fee at the airport. Every day I drag this thing to school and back home again. It gives me a crick in the neck. Not to mention the long-term damage I imagine it’s doing to my spine. And I’m not the only one. Kids all over the country carry this much and more. They’re weighing in on our website. Sean, what’s the national total up to?
OTHER UNIDENTIFIED BOY FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: 230,456,474 pounds on the backs of school children across America.
UNIDENTIFIED BOY FROM VISITORS’ SECTION: If that’s not cruel and unusual punishment, what is?
(There is another pause. This time it’s the justices who are speechless.)
SADIE WARREN: Thank you, Alistair. Besides the bodily damage it does, homework has a negative impact on emotional health, too. If you could visit the homes of school-age children after school, you’d hear small fists pounding tables in frustration. You’d smell coffee being brewed by eleven-year-olds desperate to study for one more test, complete one more task. And you’d see bedside clocks showing one a.m. next to empty beds, where teenagers should be sleeping, but instead they’re hunched over desks, battling a deadline.
(She waits for another pitch, but none comes.)
SADIE WARREN: Moving on, if I may, to a purely legal argument, there is also the privacy question.
(We all look over at Justice DeFazio now.)
We accept that kids have to go to school. It’s the law, and it gives them the benefit of an education—
JUSTICE COHEN: While allowing their parents to work.
SADIE WARREN: Yes, Justice Cohen, but we feel that just as their parents get off work at, say, five or six o’clock, students should have away time too. And that away time should be free of intrusion by the state. In this case, the schools.
JUSTICE RAUCH: Parents take work home. Some of them work all the time. That’s the nature of a competitive society. Shouldn’t we prepare our children for it?
SADIE WARREN: Parents are paid to do the work they bring home, Justice Rauch. Kids are just pressured to do it. If they don’t, they get punished or publicly shamed by teachers who post homework charts in class.
JUSTICE FITZGERALD: Are you saying that there’s no benefit at all to homework?
SADIE WARREN: None proven, Justice Fitzgerald. And that does raise the question, if kids aren’t being paid to do the work, and there’s no proof that the work benefits them, then whom does it benefit? The real estate industry, which enjoys higher home values in neighborhoods with homework-heavy schools? The pharmaceutical industry, which has seen prescriptions for ADHD and anxiety drugs rise at the exact same rate as homework has risen? With so many hours of unpaid work for the benefit of others, then, we believe that homework is itself a violation of child labor laws.
(I check the clock: eleven minutes left.)
SADIE WARREN: Also, if you look to common law principles to support our claim, you’ll find that in 2009 the Supreme Court of Canada granted one family the right to refuse homework for their son.
(Justice Fitzgerald makes a note on a pad.)
JUSTICE COHEN: The examples you cite in your brief, of endless worksheets and online exercises, do seem like a poor use of children’s time. But surely not all homework is as mind numbing as that.
SADIE WARREN: It’s true that some teachers are more creative and challenge their students to think. But they don’t have time. They’re too busy rushing to complete the standards. And they’re under the same pressure kids are to boost test scores.
(Eight minutes.)
SADIE WARREN: I also hope you’ll consider the Fourteenth Amendment’s guarantee of equal protection under the law. In 1954 this Court found that racially segregated schools were inherently unequal. But there’s another inequality that hasn’t been addressed, and that’s the socioeconomic inequality. During the school day, students sit together, they play together, they learn together. But then they go home—some to an empty home because both parents work, others to a home full of advantages like college-educated moms and dads, technology, and tutors. By giving homework, then, the schools are forcing students back into a condition of separate, unequal, and therefore unconstitutional education.
JUSTICE ROSENBURG: Shouldn’t all kids be doing their homework alone?
JUSTICE FITZGERALD: I did.
JUSTICE DEFAZIO: I did.
JUSTICE RENFRO: I did.
JUSTICE SUERTE: I did.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Had help.
JUSTICE COHEN: Mom was a teacher. Had help.
JUSTICE RAUCH: Mom and Dad were lawyers. No help.
(The justices all lean forward to look at Justice Williams, but he just rolls his eyes. The court clock turns white: two minutes left.)
JUSTICE RENFRO: So, to be fair to the less fortunate, then, we should abolish homework and expand the school day?
(Sadie freezes. The whole courtroom goes silent. All the kids start to panic.)
SADIE WARREN: No.
JUSTICE RENFRO: And why not?
(The light on the clock turns red: one minute. Sadie looks at me. It’s really just a glance, but it eats up ten seconds. Then she looks back at the bench.)
SADIE WARREN: For the same reason we have come before you today. A child born in the United States in 1900 could expect to live fifty, maybe fifty-five years. That same child born today will likely live to eighty or eighty-five, maybe much longer. This Court has always relied on the test of reason for its decisions. I ask you, how is it reasonable that, when we’ve made the human lifespan longer, we’re making childhood shorter? You all had free time when you were kids. Chief Justice Reynolds, you were on the wrestling team in high school. That made you tough—and not just in the ring. Justice Cohen, you reread Pride and Prejudice every year. Not because you had to for a class, but because it was your favorite book. Justice Suerte, you were a Yankees fan. I’ll bet you learned a lot of math just from keeping track of their stats. And if you hadn’t had free time to watch Perry Mason, would you have fallen in love with the law? And you, Justice Rauch, you grew up in Colorado, one of our nation’s most beautiful states. Think about the time you spent outdoors. Wasn’t that a part of your education? Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court, you have the power to make a sea change in the lives of young people today. Give us back our childhoods. Give us the freedom to follow our own interests, to be curious again, to dream, and to have time to spend with our friends, our parents and grandparents, and our little brothers and sisters. Give us, as only you can, the ultimate homework pass: end it for all time.
(You know how I said the Supreme Court is as quiet as a cathedral? Not now, it isn’t. There’s cheering from the audience and the press. Cheering for my big sister.)
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Thank you, Miss Warren.
(The clerk resets the clock. There’s no time for the bathroom or snacks or even to breathe because here comes Livingston Gulch.)
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Mr. Gulch?
(Livingston Gulch stands, his hands tucked into the pockets of his green jacket. As he and Sadie walk past each other, he nods at her. He steps to the lectern and stands there in a long silence even though the Supreme Court clock is already counting down from 30:00. He stays perfectly still until the clock hits 29:30, and the first words step out of Gulch’s mouth.)
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Loco. Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court, this is a case of in loco parentis. For those of you who don’t do your homework, that’s Latin for “in place of the parents.” It’s been the cornerstone of public education since the very first day of school. Society has given—and this Court has upheld—the right of the school boards to act in the best interest of the students.
JUSTICE RENFRO: How’s this a loco parentis case? Homework is supposed to be done at home.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Well, Justice Renfro, it’s precisely because so many parents are not at home after four that the schools need to extend in loco parentis into the evening hours. With homework. It keeps the latchkey kids out of trouble.
JUSTICE COHEN: What about the homes where there are tutors or educated parents to help? What do you say to Miss Warren’s argument that this creates an equal protection violation?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: I say the same thing I noted in my brief. Libraries with free homework help are available to all who can’t afford a tutor.
JUSTICE SUERTE: And you think that paves a level playing field in our nation’s schools?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: The playing field will never be level in this country, Justice Suerte. It’s not the American way. Some will have to work harder to get across it, as I did by working my way through law school, and as you and your brother, Juan, did by studying the encyclopedia.
(He bugged our suite at the Watergate. He bugged us for sure!)
JUSTICE RENFRO: What if homework’s not in the best interest of the child? What if, as Miss Warren suggests, it’s akin to illegal child labor?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Next thing you know she’ll claim it’s a violation of the Thirteenth Amendment.
JUSTICE WILLIAMS: That’s not what she said.
(Huge gasp from the audience! Justice Williams just broke his longtime silence.)
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Sounded like she was going there to me, Justice Williams.
JUSTICE WILLIAMS: She said that the labor of homework benefits the real estate and pharmaceutical industries. And since children aren’t being paid to do it, it violates the Fair Labor Standards Act. I’m intrigued by the argument.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Why are we putting so much pressure on children, especially since, as Miss Warren pointed out, we’re living longer than we used to?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: The trouble with her lifespan argument, Chief, is that children born today are going to have a harder time finding a job, because senior citizens—I’m not pointing any fingers, Justice Rosenburg—are taking longer to step down.
JUSTICE DEFAZIO: Does the state—in this case the schools—have the right to mandate behavior in people’s homes?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: By that line of thinking, Justice DeFazio, people will say they don’t have to fill out their tax returns. We’ve all got homework due on the fifteenth of April, don’t we?
JUSTICE ROSENBURG: Surely the emotional health of a child is consistent with the pursuit of happiness, Mr. Gulch. Homework does seem to be taking away that right from our children.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Pursuit of happiness is an adult’s right, Justice Rosenburg, not a child’s. First they have to be educated. Then they have to get jobs. Then they can pay for their happiness.
JUSTICE COHEN: Are you suggesting that this Court made a mistake when it ruled in Tinker v. Des Moines that students do not shed their constitutional rights at the schoolhouse gate?
JUSTICE RAUCH: Or Goss v. Lopez when it ruled that a child’s rights can’t be denied without due process?
JUSTICE RENFRO: Why should pursuit of happiness be any different from those rights?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Would you trust a child to pursue his own happiness, Justice Renfro? If so, why not get rid of compulsory education altogether? Let kids anesthetize themselves in front of their beloved screens until they come of age.
JUSTICE SUERTE: You take an awfully dim view of today’s youth, Mr. Gulch. Their pursuit of happiness might surprise you with its substance.
LIVINGSTON GULCH: And it might surprise you, Justice Suerte, with its emptiness. Eight- to eighteen-year-olds spend up to sixteen hours a day on screens. Seventy-six percent of teens use social media. Eighty-three percent of teenage boys play video games. Among teenage girls, the median number of text messages sent each day is fifty. They’re texting, Facebooking, Snapchatting, and Instagramming themselves into oblivion.
JUSTICE FITZGERALD: What about common law precedent? What do you say about the Supreme Court of Canada upholding a family’s right to refuse homework?
LIVINGSTON GULCH: Canada. Not China. You don’t see the hard-working nations of this planet coddling their youth.
JUSTICE RAUCH: Isn’t there a benefit to allowing kids time in nature without the constant pressures of schoolwork?
LIVINGSTONE GULCH: You might find God in a trout stream, Justice Rauch. But I doubt you’ll find a good-paying job there.
(Gulch’s clock turns red. He has one minute left.)
Which brings me to my final point. It’s true that children are the future of any nation. So consider this as you consider the future of ours. Compared with students in other countries, American students score thirty-first in math, seventeenth in reading, and twenty-third in science. In all three categories, China scored number one. Do you think kids in China are complaining about their homework? Do you think kids in Korea are worried about the pursuit of happiness? No. They’re too busy pursuing excellence.
Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court, from where you sit, you are obligated to take the long view. Back to our founders, who left matters of education up to individual states and school boards. Ahead to our future, a nation of people ill prepared to compete in the global job market. This is no time to overstep your limits and disarm our teachers in the war on mediocrity. Let them use every weapon they have to make America great again. Including homework. I yield the balance of my time.
JUSTICE ROSENBURG: I wonder if we might hear from the boy who brought the case. Sam, in your own words, can you tell us why you’re here?
(Okay, I told you I have a hard time talking to grownups. But in front of these grownups I’m terrified. Not only are they the Supreme Court of the United States, but they’re floating high above me on thrones. The Guided Meditation Lady whispers in my head, Things can be accomplished in a calm, relaxed way, so breathe. I picture Mr. Kalman on the ground and refusing to say uncle to big Joe Mancuso. And I swallow an advice pill from Bernice. You can’t tear down a wall if you don’t take a swing. So I swing.)
SAM WARREN: I’m here, Justice Rosenburg, because I couldn’t take it anymore. I go to school all day. I work hard. I do what I’m told. I don’t complain. And I’m definitely not a crybaby. I like school. We learn a lot there. But when I finally get home, the last thing I want to do is more schoolwork. I want to run around, play the piano, see my friends. I want to draw and build a treehouse and learn what I want to learn. The way Steve Jobs did when he was a kid. The way Benjamin Franklin and Bill Gates and Herbie Hancock did when they were kids. Earlier this year we had to do projects on endangered species. I did mine on the red panda because I love trees and so do they. But if I had to do it over again, I’d choose a different endangered species. I’d choose childhood.
CHIEF JUSTICE REYNOLDS: Thank you, Sam. In light of the national attention this case has drawn, and the size of the crowd outside today, I’m ordering the clerk to set aside all pending matters so that we may go directly into conference. The case is submitted.