Alan

On Christmas Eve, schoolchildren, anticipating the holidays, were busy with all sorts of nonsense in the school hallways. Your class—very friendly folks—decided to hold a "Secret Santa" party. It was a small tradition that had been going on every year for five years. On the one hand, it was really cool, considering that absolutely no one was left out.

On the other hand, you really didn't want the name of one specific person—Alan—to be written on the piece of paper. You'd disliked each other since elementary school; you'd even been enemies. This seemingly nice guy was your hated nightmare.

The class president handed you a jar of names. You shuffled them and pulled out a single piece of paper, deciding not to read it yet and instead to look at the others.

When Alan pulled out a white piece of paper, he glanced at you from under his brows and smiled, smoothing his black hair on top of his head. That signature smile of his didn't bode well. Apparently, he'd picked a very obvious person.

It's time for you to look: on the notebook page, in neat handwriting, was written only one name - Alan.