“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Let’s stick to the plan.”

So much for connecting with me. “Right,” I said, and turned to leave. “You want to endorse a breakfast cereal, be my guest.”

“It’s not me they’re asking.”

“Exactly,” I said, twisting the knife just a little as I left.

Fallacy #2: Familiarity breeds contempt.

Whoever said that never met Paul. I could be around him every minute of every day, and never get tired of him. The only time I was content to do nothing was when we were together. And the more time I spent, the more I wanted to spend.

At lunchtime on Monday, in our SAS meeting, Paul and I sat together, as usual, but it felt entirely different. It’s not like we were holding hands, but we could have if we wanted to, and that made all the difference in the world. Of course we could have before, but not without a fountain show of spit-takes around the room. Now no one would bat an eye. Or at least no one in this room.

Right at the start, the meeting took a critical turn.

“I’m truly sorry to have to inform you,” Mr. DeVaney began, “that the administration has rescinded their offer of the gym for the dance, until the issue can be addressed by the school board.”

The collective shock around the room could have taken out the power grid. I was angry, but not surprised. Racists like to hide in their living rooms behind quiet policy and group inertia. Armchair terrorism. What was true in my original world was just amplified here.

Then, while the others were voicing their justified fury, Paul leaned over and whispered to me, “This might be the best thing that could have happened.”

At first, I was confused, but as I looked at him, and at that subversive grin on his face, I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“You’re a genius,” I told him.

“Spread the word, I need more tutoring jobs.”

I stood up to get everyone’s attention and spoke loud.

“Do it anyway!” I said. That shut everyone up, and they looked in our direction. “Do it anyway and let them try to stop it.”

Mr. DeVaney took off his glasses. “Ash, I don’t think—”

But Paul cut him off. “Because they’d have to send the police to keep us out, and then the whole thing will blow up into a huge and highly visible incident. The kind that the media absolutely loves . . .”

“And,” I added, “I’ve got myself some nice media contacts now.”

A moment of silence and everyone started buzzing, to Mr. DeVaney’s chagrin. Paul and I had no idea if it would happen or not—but in one smooth stroke we had turned the SAS Club from a bake-sale bunch into a den of revolutionaries.