Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby

All I can do is watch, helpless, as Karl’s form recedes.

He’s being guided forcibly away by the firm hand of a security guard, and he’s

yelling something over the din of the crowd, the announcer, and the sounds of

cooking.

I can’t make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it’s frantic. But before I can

make sense of it, a microphone is suddenly shoved in my face, and the camera

blocks my view of Karl’s fading form.

“Abby, what’s happening? Does your sous chef often show such aggressive

behavior?” The announcer’s voice breaks through my train of thought, loud and

Enter title…

grating over the microphone. I feel frozen to my spot, unsure of what to do.

“I… Um… Excuse me,” I manage, pushing past the announcer and hurrying

toward the edge of the stage, toward where Karl and the security guard

disappeared to. But Mr. Thompson is already in my way, grabbing my arm and

yanking me out of the view of the camera.

“Abby, you can’t follow him,” Mr. Thompson hisses, his voice low. “Get back out

there.”

“But I need to—” I begin, but the words are cut off.

“No,” Mr. Thompson cuts in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “What you

need to do is finish your dish. This will be handled, don’t worry.”

“But Karl, he—”

be taken care of,” he interrupts firmly. “The

stop. You must continue or

cook without my sous chef,” I argue,

Daniel still has his

Thompson retorts with a regretful shake

sorry, Abby, but it’s not up

concept seems so far from me now.

I can’t do this all on my own. I need a sous chef. “I

is all okay,” I say. “He would

This—this is a farce!”

don’t have to pretend anything,” Mr. Thompson replies. “Just

it? To prove yourself

back at the station, at the

the lights, the eyes on the stage—all of it is

Thompson is right; I can’t

you have to go back,” Mr. Thompson murmurs, his voice

with concern. “You know Karl would want you to finish this,

without him.”

close my eyes for a fleeting second, letting his words

Mr. Thompson is right, yet

right,” I say, though each word feels hollow, even to me. “But

dish, but I won’t let this lie. Karl

one of them.”

worry,” Mr. Thompson says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll look into

Personally.”

and run back on stage,

this time. The audience is

judges are staring at me from their booth. Daniel

are right back at work. And the timer hasn’t

several minutes

I murmur as I dash past the camera and back to my station. The

time bomb, a countdown

And I feel utterly helpless

past Daniel’s station, I catch his eyes. He and his sous

sous chef cooking with

look with that knowing glint