Abby

The stage lights are blinding, but I try to focus on the announcer standing across

from me. His voice reverberates through the microphone as he begins his script.

“Ladies and Gentlemen… Welcome to the annual Alpha party cooking

competition! I’m your host, Heinrich Williams, and today I’m proud to

announce…”

One by one, the contestants and judges are introduced. Their faces are

projected onto giant screens that hang above us, and with each announcement,

the audience cheers and applauds excitedly. The announcer then asks each

Enter title…

person a couple of questions, giving them time to promote themselves before

the show begins.

As I’m waiting for my turn, though, all I can feel is crippling, soul-crushing fear.

How do I look? How will the audience respond? What will I say when it’s my turn

talk? I wasn’t expecting all of this, and all I can

maybe I wouldn’t

me, steady as a rock. When I

catch his brown eyes glinting in

about it

almost glad to have him here. I thought that it

by my side,

of me at his presence, attracted to his scent and closeness

a lifeline in a

now,” the announcer booms, pulling me back to reality, “a

her interview yesterday. With

words about inclusivity in the culinary world—please give a

welcome to Abby!”

erupts into cheers, louder

have ever imagined.

I blink in surprise.

name on them, being held up by

is written in colorful letters, hearts dotting the

like “Go Abby!” and “Team

my arm gently, a signal for me to step forward. My shoes

stage floor as I move stiffly toward the microphone, my

a

Do people… really

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