Cocoa Rice Krispie treats with dark chocolate chips.
Of course all the contestants answered Cocoa Rice Krispie Treats. Everyone knows that Casey Rose loved Cocoa Rice Krispie Treats. What all the entrants considered a giveaway question proved to be their undoing. All but one little girl. Only one trivia contestant, out of over two hundred thousand, tracked down an obscure interview on an Icelandic morning radio show where the recently deceased superstar, Casey Rose, confided that his favorite dessert was, indeed, Cocoa Rice Krispie Treats, but with the addition of dark chocolate chips. And that's precisely how Emily Foster won an all access pass to socialite Gia "Prince$$" Giordano's New Year's Eve Slumber Party at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.
A fat fellow, olive skinned with thick rimmed glasses and a massive pinky ring in the shape of a scarab approached Emily and her dad upon their arrival to drop her off for the night. He glanced at a clipboard, "Ms. Emily Foster?"
"Yes. I'm--" Emily's voice trailed off.
Hopped up on Pixie Stix and distracted by a circle of laughing girls, she didn't pay attention as her dad knelt and hugged her so very tight. She felt his scratchy beard against her cheek. She realized he was crying, but at ten years of age, the impulse to appear cool amongst the other girls defeated any questions she had regarding her daddy's wet eyes. She swatted at his irritating facial hair, and with a peck on his cheek eagerly joined the other tweens.
She introduced herself as Emma. Tonight she'd be exquisite Emma not nerdy Emily.
Behind her, Emma's father signed the man's clipboard. He passed Emma's dad an envelope, which her father discretely slid into the interior pocket of his winter coat. Her dad stole a quick glance at his daughter, before he fled the museum. Outside, a husband held his sobbing wife.
Emily, still growing out of her baby fat and tackling adolescence with just a single father, often felt a twinge of discomfort around other girls her age, the skinnier girls with the sexier outfits. Emily had been six years old when she figured out her Sears skirts weren't colorful enough (or short enough) for acceptance by her peers. At six and half she started skipping school lunches. And at seven, Emily discovered Casey Rose. She made it her top priority to know every single detail about the pop star's life. She became a font of Casey Rose trivia. Very soon the popular girls were coming to her with questions.
Emily, Emma, had never been so popular, even if her popularity was solely based on her usefulness. When Casey was murdered last October, Emma considered killing herself. But it was a shared love of Casey Rose that kept all the girls strong during the sad times following his death.
Tonight's party was to celebrate the deceased reality television and pop music legend. There'd been fashion contests, singing contests and even a dancing contest. But Emma had won her ticket using her smarts. Tonight was the most important night of Emma's life.
Emma's outfit for the slumber party, her new tights and blouse combo from Ho-Girl Gear, hung on a clothes rack. All of the girls were ordered to don bath robes over their undergarments before entering into the party. Some of the more assertive tweens complained, but the intimidating man in the burgundy suit simply stated that their other option was to go home.
None of the girls opted to leave the party. Soon after, a series of interior bolts locked into place, securing the bronze doors leading to the Egyptology wing of the Met. Strange, robed men with shaved heads efficiently taped shut cardboard boxes brimming with rhinestone studded Blackberries and hot pink iPhones. Two stuffed racks of young girls' clothing, heavy with trendy apparel and warm coats the color of bubble gum, were promptly sheeted with opaque plastic and rolled out of sight past a staff only placard.
The bulbous fellow with the scarab pinky ring scrutinized the release forms and poured himself a goblet of Red Obelisk wine. From behind the bronze doors, muffled screaming could be heard; high pitched screams; the screams of little girls; the unmistakable screams of joy.
