10 or 15?

It’s my senior year of high school. I am sitting in my AP Psychology class when my teacher announces that we’re going to do an experiment. We all look around at each other, sharing expressions of confusion, excitement and, because we know who we're dealing with, a little bit of fear. He instructs us all to take out a blank sheet of paper. Carefully, I rip a piece of paper from my notebook. I tear slowly along the perforated edges, trying to leave a clean break. Of course it doesn’t work. I wonder why the manufacturers even bother to include perforated edges if they never come off clean. Before I can find the answer, my teacher clears his throat, signaling that he’s about to move on to the next step. We wait in silence.

“Okay.” He says, his voice tinged with excitement. “Let’s play a game.” A sly grin spreads across his face and the class laughs nervously. We’re done for. “If every person in this room writes ten on that piece of paper, the entire class will receive ten extra credit points.” The class erupts with questions.

“Ten the word or the number?”

“Either one is fine just write something signaling ten.”

“Could we draw ten rocket ships?”

“Could we put five plus five?”

“Whatever you want, it just has to translate to the number ten.”

The classroom murmurs with excitement and disbelief. An AP kid will do anything for extra credit.

“Wait!” silence. “There’s a catch.” Of course there is. “If everyone writes ten, everyone receives ten points, but if one person writes 15, they get 15 points and everyone else doesn’t get any.”

We stare at him, knitted brows and slack jaws everywhere. “If four or more people write 15,” he continues, “then no one gets anything.”

A girl sitting in the front of the class with a sleek black pony tail delicately raises her hand, "Can you explain that again please?"

“Sure” the teacher smiles. Suddenly he reminds me of the snake from The Jungle Book, slithering around our necks, singing trust in me! “If everyone writes ten on their piece of paper, everyone in the class gets ten extra credit points. But if one or three people write 15, they get 15 points and everyone else is screwed over. But if four or more people write 15, no one gets anything.”

“What’s the point of this?” a boy asks from the back of the class.

The teacher shrugs “To see what you’re all made of.”

Everyone fidgets in their seats.

How is this fair?

This is so messed up!

Why can’t you just give us all ten points?!

“Listen, listen,” he says in his most unctuous used car salesmen voice. “You guys are without a doubt, my nicest most polite class. You’re all so sweet to each other, this exercise should be an easy ten points.” He arches one black eye brow “But, isn’t 15 points better than ten points?”

This isn’t fair

This is so messed up!

You’re pitting us against each other!

“I’m doing nothing of the sort!” he says, in feigned innocence. He slaps one large hand against his chest like some kind of outraged southern belle. “It’s about trust. If you trust your class mates, write ten. Then you’ll all get ten points, easy as pie. You have three minutes. No talking. No looking at your neighbor’s answer. Ready. Set. Go.”

Silence. Nothing but the humming of the air conditioner.

I look down at my paper. The edge torn in a perfect line up until the very end. This is easy. If we all write ten, we’re all guaranteed points. I draw a giant number ten that takes up the entire page. I look down at my work, satisfied. I’d be willing to bet my grade in this class that everyone else wrote ten. Why wouldn’t they? It makes the most sense for everybody.

A high chirp splits the silent air. The teacher turns off the timer on his phone and urges us to pass our papers in.

“Ok. Let’s see what we got here.” He picks up the first paper. “Ten.” He read. The entire class room breaths a sigh of relief. He reads ten again. We all start to nod confidently. Then another, and another. I lean back in to my chair. Of course we all wrote ten, why wouldn’t we? It’s an easy ten points. He gets to the second to last paper.

“Fifteen.”

I shoot back up. He reads the last paper.

“And Fifteen”

The class erupts in to protest.

How could they?

Why would someone do that?

This is so stupid!

“Wow. I really thought you guys could pull it off. Would either person who wrote fifteen like to explain themselves?”

The girl with the pony tail raises her hand.

How could you?

Why would you?

This is so stupid!

“Why’d you do it?” the teacher asks. But I can tell by his eyes that he already knows the answer.

The girl shrugs her bony shoulders. “I knew someone was going to write it. Why not be me?”

I never forget these words.

I raise my hand, “How much of a difference percentage wise is there between ten and fifteen points?”

The teach gives me a sly nod, “Good question. I did the math last class and it’s roughly a one percent difference.” He leans back against the white board triumphantly, “Man you AP kids will do anything for extra credit.”

I still think about this “experiment.” I suppose that was part of the point. I remember feeling dejected. Sure, it was only a few extra credit points, the stakes were low. But that only goes to show you, there’s always somebody who will sell out the group. There’s always somebody who will do what’s best for them, no matter the cost to others. There’s always somebody who writes 15.

I went through the rest of that day feeling pretty dejected about the whole thing. I remember sitting with my friend at lunch, discussing it.

“I just really thought we were better than that. Ya know? I genuinely believed everyone would write ten. It just made sense. I guess I was wrong.”

That’s when my friend looked me straight in the eye and said, “Well for the most part, everyone did. Didn’t they?”

I’m thinking about this now, in the basement of my university’s library. I’m thinking about the world outside of my little bubble, and I know that it's changing. Or maybe not and I’m just too young to tell. Either way, I know one thing for certain. When it comes down to it, there’s really one central choice in life: Do you write ten or do you write 15? I hope I always choose ten. I hope most people, when it comes down to it, do the same. But not everyone does.