With impressive ease, Michael Rosin navigated his torch red Corvette through the Friday morning rush hour traffic of Chicago's north shore suburbs, bound for the campus of Northwestern University. It had rained overnight, and late April sunlight glinted off the roadway. The freshly scented spring air carried the first promise of impending summer warmth.

Michael ran through his schedule for the day in his mind. Following the 9:00 coaching session at Northwestern with a talented student string quartet, he would have time for lunch on campus before returning home to a grueling lesson schedule which would stretch from the afternoon into the evening. The life of a professional freelance violinist was always busy and in flux. Teaching, rehearsals, concerts, recording sessions, more teaching...With one hand firmly on the steering wheel, Michael reached for the Starbucks coffee at his side. Mentally, he reviewed the points that he would emphasize regarding the morning's repertoire of Beethoven and Ravel. Then, for no reason in particular, his thoughts drifted to Hannah Hollins.

Hannah had been one of Michael's most special violin students. She had entered his studio eight years earlier as a quietly precocious 12-year-old--sweet, slightly shy, studious, and enormously gifted. At moments, her playing transcended mere technique to enter the realm of poetry. She was a straight-A student for whom everything seemed to come easily. In addition to the violin, she played the flute, studied ballet, and became a star member of the Deerfield High School volleyball team. For Michael, her triumphant senior recital had been a bittersweet moment. In vivid detail, he could still see the beautiful floral gown she had worn, and he would never forget the warmth of her appreciative 'goodbye' hug. Over the years, they had developed a special student-teacher bond, based on mutual respect and admiration. She was the daughter he hoped one day to have.

Now, Hannah was in her Junior year at Northwestern, majoring in Biology. Months earlier, their paths had crossed, inadvertently, on campus. From a girl, she had blossomed into a radiant young woman. An unforgettable smile, reflecting the vitality and innocence of youth, still lit up her princess-like face. Glorious, wavy, dark auburn hair still cascaded just below her shoulders. Beaming with her characteristic sincerity, she had assured him that everything was going well. She had been carrying a stylish tote bag, and she had been dressed in jeans and a v-neck top. Michael had found it impossible to ignore the way the cloths flattered the perfect, sensuous curves of her body. He felt half guilty as his eyes drifted casually over her voluptuousness. Hopefully, the numerous guys who were surely competing for Hannah's attention were treating her with the reverence she deserved.

The coaching session went smoothly. As the group packed up their instruments, the conversation of two of the girls caught Michael's attention. After a morning of intense work, the mood had lightened, and they spoke in a carefree, frivolous tone.

"I'm headed over to Norris now. AMASE is doing a pie-in-the-face fundraiser at noon, and I'm going to pie my roommate."

"That's awesome! I've always wanted to throw a pie in someone's face!"

"Yeah, what a great stress-releaser, right?! And she totally deserves it!"

Michael was familiar with the organization, which was dedicated to providing music and art programs for children with disabilities. Hadn't he seen Hannah post something about AMASE once on Facebook? Surely, she would not participate in such a demeaning event. Or would she? The thought of a cream pie smashing into Hannah's face seemed unimaginable. He hoped that she would not sacrifice her dignity in such a way, yet he also found the prospect dangerously intriguing. Norris University Center, the student union building, was where he had planned to grab lunch. He decided that he would check out the event, and perhaps make a donation.

Norris Center was buzzing with midday activity. Brightly colored flyers advertising AMASE's pie-in-the-face fundraiser dotted bulletin boards and tables. Michael noticed that an eager crowd of students was already gathering in one corner of the vast dining area. The expressions of onlookers suggested a mix of curiosity and amusement. The circular lunch tables had been removed, and the floor and walls had been taped with a patchwork of slick plastic garbage bags. A few girls buzzed around a table which had been prepared for tickets and donations. Suddenly, Michael's heart skipped a beat. There was Hannah, dressed in running shorts and a white spaghetti strap tank top. She was carrying a plastic Target bag which appeared to contain a towel and a change of cloths. She looked up and saw him, her face glowing with a smile of surprise. Tossing down the bag, she ran up, and they embraced.

"Mr. Rosin, I was just thinking about you the other day!"

After a moment of catching up, Michael looked into her clear blue eyes with a wry smile.

"So, you're doing this?"

"Yes, they talked me into it," she answered, giggling with a hint of self-consciousness. "I couldn't do it last year because I had a conflict with a class. They thought I was trying to get out of it, so I think this year I'm really going to get it! I'm kind of nervous, but it's for a really great cause."

The final words were spoken with an endearing sense of calm reassurance, and selflessness. Then, she giggled again and her voice took on a playful tone that seemed to be a cover for mild trepidation.

"Mr. Rosin, for $5.00 you can throw a pie in my face! I bet you've always wanted to do that to one of your students. It's a pretty good deal!"

Michael noticed a crew of guys bringing in large buckets and a colorful kiddie pool.

"...Plus, if I raise $50 or more, I get slimed," continued Hannah, cheerfully. "When I was a kid, I always thought it would be cool to get slimed."

"I definitely want to see that!" Michael teased.

A few moments later, she was gone. The five minute countdown to the event had started. The crowd of students packing into the space was getting larger and louder. Michael watched as a few of the girls pulled their hair into ponytails and buns in preparation. Hannah seemed to have resolved to leave her gorgeous hair down. The crowd applauded and cheered with delight as metal carts containing rows and rows of cream pies were wheeled in. Apparently, the pies had been donated by a bakery, just off campus. Mounds of thick, gooey whipped cream and cool chocolate pudding filled the deep aluminum foil plates. The pies were drizzled with sticky chocolate syrup. Some contained an oppressively thick, soupy layer of cherry filling.

Hannah glanced at the pies and, for a split second, a look of dread flashed across her face. She took a deep breath, giggled, and turned to a friend. Michael could just make out her words as she moaned,

"Oh my God...This is going to be such a mess..."

The ticket table was open for business. Suddenly, Michael realized that his proximity to the table put him first in a rapidly growing line. He would either have to step aside, or buy a ticket.

The girl sitting at the table looked up with a friendly smile as Michael lay down cash for one ticket.

"Who do you want to pie?" She asked.

"Hannah Hollins."

The attending girls who were congregated around the table let out a gleeful yelp.

"Hannah, you're up," said a voice.

Barefoot, Hannah stepped slowly onto the shiny plastic floor covering. She giggled, sheepishly, as the huge crowd let out a raucous, ear-splitting cheer. Her demeanor was now one of light-hearted resignation. She shifted her feet, as if to brace herself for what was coming, and then stood in willing submission, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides.

No one would be able to unsee what was about to happen. A camera from local news station WGN poked through an opening in the crowd. A photographer crouching in the front row was probably with the student newspaper, 'The Daily Northwestern.' Based on the vibe in the room, Michael sensed that Hannah was greatly admired, respected, and well-liked. Despite the fact that they so looked up to her, or perhaps because of it, the spectators greeted the situation with mischievous pleasure. With giddy satisfaction, everyone anticipated the moment when a well-placed cream pie would take beautiful, sweet, exceptional Hannah Hollins down a few notches.

Michael picked up a pie. It was heavier than he had expected. It smelled overly sweet and sugary. He glanced down at the thick, gooey, decadent whipped cream, the cool, gloppy chocolate pudding, and the heavy lakes of chocolate syrup which came perilously close to dripping over the sides of the tin. For a moment, he wondered if he could bring himself to do this to her. He had never contemplated throwing a pie in the face of a student, let alone Hannah. But now, it seemed there was no turning back.

Cheered on by the crowd, Michael stepped towards Hannah, pie in hand, and stopped about eight feet from where she was standing. Their eyes met, and she giggled. All of those intense hours preparing for youth orchestra auditions and competitions, helping her develop her artistry, and watching her perform...it had all come down to this. Michael hesitated.

"Are you OK with this?" He asked, skeptically.

Laughing good-naturedly, she nodded, reassuringly, and said, "I'm fine."

A moment later, Michael was not entirely convinced, as he watched her take another deep breath and brush back her hair, which had dropped over one shoulder to fall into her cleavage. For Hannah, every second of delay was surely torturous. Slowly, Michael approached her, balancing the pie in his hand. He drank in the beauty of her expressive face. Now, she seemed to have overcome her trepidation. He held all the cards, and she just stood there and waited for it.

A chorus of male voices rang out from the crowd, urging him on.

"Give it to her!... Do it!!...Put it in her face!!!"

Slowly, Michael raised the pie in aim. Hannah giggled. Her body stiffened and she braced herself.

SPLAT. With one firm, decisive push, Hannah Hollins received the chocolate cream pie squarely in her face. As it splattered violently in all directions, the delighted crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. The sight of Hannah's beautiful, glowing face being replaced, so unceremoniously, with a pie elicited a long collective groan: "Ohhh..."

Michael had seen her eyes close just before the moment of impact. Now, he could feel her face on the other side of the plate. He felt as if he was violating her, but he decided to take advantage of the rare opportunity. With just enough force, he rubbed the pie from side to side for effect. Thick, smothering whipped cream and pudding oozed out from the plate, dropped in heavy clumps onto Hannah's shoulders, and slid into her cleavage. When the plate dropped, Hannah was unrecognizable behind a thick, creamy mask. Pie hung from her hair. Her mouth was open, as if in shock. Then, she dissolved into meek giggles. The once-immaculate white tank top which bundled her cleavage like a valuable, enticing package was now smeared with pie. Pie had splattered onto her bright shorts and dotted her smooth, well-shaped legs.

As Michael stepped aside, Hannah had little time to prepare for the next pie.

SPLAT. It hit her face, and was then smeared into her hair. Instantly, Hannah was consumed in another layer of cream and sticky, suffocating cherry filling. SMOOSH. SMACK. The crowd cheered with riot-like intensity as a pie was slammed down on top of Hannah's head. It rested there like a perverse hat, before getting smeared through what remained of her once-glorious hair. A guy, armed with two pies, pushed one into her breasts, and another into her ass. Hannah gyrated and giggled. She had been stripped of her dignity. Her face had been reduced to the object of a cheap and humiliating sight gag. At this moment, no one cared how well she played the violin, that she had made the Dean's list, or that she had once danced in 'The Nutcracker.' She tried to wipe her eyes, but had insufficient time to recover before she was pelted with a new barrage of sloppy pies. She had always conveyed remarkable poise onstage, but now her body language suggested surrender and defeat. The gratuitous onslaught, which so entertained and titillated the spectators, was something to be stoically endured.

Finally, poor Hannah got a break. Throughout the room, there was awkward, half-sympathetic laughter as she stepped to the side, nearly slipping on whipped cream and pudding which coated the plastic covering. She was covered from head to foot and she appeared slightly dazed, although still in good humor. Dripping with ooze, she kept her arms outstretched.

An attractive asian girl, dressed in a T-shirt and black spandex shorts, was up next.

A female voice from the audience yelled out, "We love you, Michelle!"

As she stepped, barefoot, through the accumulated slop, Michelle looked as if she was preparing to walk the plank. She laughed and rolled her eyes, as if she thought she was above taking a pie in the face. She had pulled her short black hair back into a neat ponytail.

SPLAT. Michelle's face was replaced with a pie. It was smeared through her hair, coating the ponytail.

Michael watched as a giggly, petite Caitlin received her messy takedown. Then came Sophia, Abby, Karissa, and Emily. One attractive face after another was erased.

The crowd cheered, feverishly, as a white plastic stool was placed in the colorful kiddie pool. Looking like a creature from a bad science fiction film, Hannah stepped into the pool and took a seat on the stool. Giggling in anticipation, she folded her hands in her lap and waited for the inevitable. A guy lifted a heavy bucket over Hannah's head. Slowly, he let it tip. The room erupted as thick, heavy, green slime engulfed Hannah, coating her pie-smeared hair, dripping onto her shoulders, pouring into her cleavage, and running down her legs. Underneath it, she shook with giggles.

Michael wondered how she would cleanup from this? What lucky guy would get to aim a hose at her, and watch the slop gradually wash away. Michael imagined Hannah's giggly yelp as the cold water hit her. Afterwards, the soaking, stained spaghetti-strap top would cling to her delicious body before being discarded in the trash.

Hannah Hollins had proven that she was beautiful, talented, AND a truly great sport.