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It was a damn fine cake and Will was proud of his work.  He knew chocolate would be perfect.  Chocolate was Paul's favorite flavor.  And this masterpiece was now three layers of moist, delicate chocolaty heaven.  Three perfectly exact layers, glued together by a rich, orgasmic, next-to-black icing.  The powerful scent of its sweet goodness was drawn up Will's nostrils as he smoothed out the top most layer; his tongue sticking out while he worked the surface smooth.  This was the kind of cake Paul would ask for if he had to choose one last thing to eat in his lifetime.  Man, that kid loved chocolate cake.

Will and Paul had known each other forever.  The two were safety buddies in preschool and they had gone through six years of elementary schooling, always at least flipping a wave hello when they'd come across each other.  Sometimes they got lucky and were in the same class and sometimes they had different teachers.  There were years that they were close enough to call themselves each other's best friend.  Yep, back in elementary school, when being a best friend was an easy job.

Will and Paul were in the same class in 6th grade.  They sat next to each other everyday.  They would hang around together after school most days and sleep over most weekends.  They played video games together and tried to start a band.  They went to the beach and talked about girls and music and farting.  Yeah, 6th grade was definitely Will's favorite, he thought as he put the cake in a cardboard box.  Unfortunately, as he was tying the string that would secure the box, he cut the tip of his finger.  He was thinking about 7th grade.

7th grade was that was the weird year where everybody started to change, if you asked Will.  That was the year that things like peer pressure and choices became a daily challenge.  That was the year when everyone you knew was still on the same basic social level as everyone else in September; sweet and innocent as the next guy.  But, by the time June arrived, social classing had been set, and if you didn't step on someone along the way, you just got pushed further and further down the ladder.  And sometimes, the quickest way up the ladder, is to let somebody else fall down.  Will thought that was pretty much the essence of evil.

Of course, evil comes in many different packages.  And, if you asked Will, the worst kind of evil doesn't come from the act of doing, but rather the act of doing nothing.  And in 7th grade, while Will was being called faggot and being shoved into assorted lockers; while Will was trying his hardest to be attracted to girls; while Will was struggling to kick or punch or bite his way free from Mr. Kurchik, the P.E. teacher who cornered him in his office that dreadful day, sticking his hairy, stubby fingers in places Will would try hard never remember; while all of this was happening to Will in 7th grade, Paul, his best friend, did nothing.

So, since they were best friends, maybe Paul wouldn't be so surprised to see Will standing at his front door with a wicked chocolatey birthday cake.  He'd probably just call Will a fag and gouge out a canal in the smoothed outer layer of the cake with a finger that had probably just recently come out of his boxers.  And he probably wouldn't stop to realize how much thought and effort Will had put into making the cake.  Or how much anti-freeze.  But he would sure it eat up.  Revenge really is sweet.