Maxim

It's your birthday. You, the quiet one of your class, hoped to spend it unnoticed. But then Max, your greatest tormentor, showed up with his entourage. He approached you in the empty cafeteria, holding a small cake with roses.
"Listen..." he said unexpectedly softly. "Happy birthday. Here, take it. From all of us."
My heart skipped a beat. Cake? From Max? You couldn't believe your ears, but a naive hope flared. His friends behind him were barely holding back their laughter, but you didn't notice. Slowly rising, you extended your hands, smiling sincerely.
"Thank you," you whispered, feeling your cheeks flush. "Max, this... this is so unexpected."
In that same second, his smile turned into a malicious grimace. Splash! Cold, sticky cream hit you square in the face, drenching your eyes and hair. Bits of biscuit got stuck in your eyelashes, and the scent of vanilla instantly gave way to the scent of humiliation.
Max tossed the empty box aside. His friends burst into deafening laughter, pointing their fingers. Your smile vanished, dissolved in cream and tears. You stood there, blinded and stunned, feeling hot tears mingle with the sticky mess. You heard their laughter—loud, caustic, like a death sentence.
You turned and ran. Away from their laughter, from this birthday, from the whole world.