Eleven O'Clock Number

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

00: I LIKE BARBRA STREISAND. DO YOU LIKE BARBRA STREISAND?

        ALLISON REED feels like she has the worst luck on the whole damn planet.

        "So, a reminder that this person will be your working partner for the duration of this semester, and, therefore, your upcoming project," her AP English teacher had told the class earlier that morning with her usual amount of apathy. "There will be no stropping, no tantrums, no but Miss Rosenberg, she was, like, a total bitch to me in the eighth grade, and - of course - no swapping. Is that clear?"

        At the class' mumbled assent, Miss Rosenberg had continued with her monologue, the words punctuated with the click-clack of her high heels on the linoleum of the floor as she moved around the room. Allison herself had been paying a minimal amount of attention to her teacher, it being Monday morning and her not being awake enough to have moved past desperately missing her bed.

        "...this will be due by the end of the semester, but knowing you all, it's likely that I'll have to extend the deadline at some point. One last thing - I want this to be original. It's your last year of high school, kids. That might be an excuse for slacking off, but it's also an excuse to do something that makes me not completely regret taking up this profession. Your project brief is open; use that to your advantage. Make me feel like you're seniors - conscious almost-adults with a drive to do something, not just a bunch of freshmen who are here because you need the credit." Miss Rosenberg had paused here, lips pursed, then added: "Although it wouldn't hurt to keep in mind that this counts for half your grade."

        The class had made a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh. It might've just been that Allison was sleepy, but she could've sworn that Rosenberg was smiling, that devil.

        "So, now that I've clarified that - Jonathan Goldstein with Laura Bell...Lindsay Brannum with Regina Crouse...Sheryl Marshal with James Neal...Brent Schaefer with Keith Medina...Vanessa Johnson with..."

        Allison had been close to falling asleep on her desk when her own name was called.

        "...Allison Reed with Toby Martin..."

        Suddenly, Allison didn't feel so sleepy any more. Instead, she felt unlucky. Very, very unfortunate. And it's how she felt through the rest of English. And Calculus. And History. And it's how she's feeling now in the cafeteria, which is the main reason she's staring despondently at her lunch.

        "Allison?"

        It's not that Toby's a bad guy...

        "Allison?"

        ...actually she's pretty sure he's the exact opposite, with the whole puppy dog thing he's got going on...

        "Allison? Seriously?"

        ...but the thing is, he has shitty taste in best friends. Total shit. Awful. Daniel Smith is a shit best friend. He must be. And if he isn't - whatever. It doesn't matter what kind of best friend to Toby Martin Daniel Smith is. It matters that he is her ex-boyfriend.

        "Allison!"

        And that sucks.

        "Allison!"

        Allison pulls herself out of her inner soliloquy with a frown painted on her face. "What?"

        Lydia raises her eyebrows. "Oh, no way," she says. "You do not get to zone out on me like that and then pull the Annoyed Allison card."