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—”
of,” he interrupts firmly. “The judges have
stop. You
can’t cook without my sous chef,” I
fair. Daniel still has
or not,” Mr. Thompson retorts with a regretful shake of his head,
not up to me. You do want to win, don’t
seems so far from me now. It
without Karl. And I can’t do this all on my
this is all okay,” I say. “He would never hurt anyone like
This—this is a farce!”
to pretend anything,” Mr. Thompson replies.
you’re here for, isn’t it? To prove yourself in
glance back at the station, at the unfinished dish
the eyes on the stage—all of it is the real reason
Thompson is right; I can’t just abandon it
Mr. Thompson murmurs, his
laced with concern. “You know Karl would want you to
without him.”
my eyes for a fleeting second, letting his words anchor
Thompson is right,
I say, though each word feels hollow, even to
finish the dish, but I won’t let this lie. Karl is many
one of them.”
worry,” Mr. Thompson says, squeezing my shoulder.
Personally.”
and run back on stage, where the camera and the
waiting for me all this time. The audience is
staring at me from their booth. Daniel
are right back at work. And the timer hasn’t paused for
several minutes over
as I dash past the camera and back
a ticking time bomb, a countdown to an
And I feel utterly helpless in this
I catch
cooking with one hand, although I know he’s
shoots me that look with that knowing glint in
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