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—”

interrupts firmly. “The judges have made it

You

without my

Daniel still has his sous

not,” Mr. Thompson retorts with a

rules. I’m sorry, Abby, but it’s not up to me. You do want to win,

me now. It doesn’t feel right

can’t do this all on my own. I

this is all okay,” I say. “He would never hurt

This—this is a farce!”

to pretend anything,” Mr. Thompson replies. “Just cook.

for, isn’t it? To prove

the

the lights, the eyes on the stage—all of

is right; I can’t just

go back,” Mr.

“You know Karl would want you to finish

without him.”

fleeting second, letting his words anchor me

is

though each word feels hollow, even to me. “But

finish the dish, but I won’t let this lie. Karl

one of them.”

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

Personally.”

around and run back on stage, where the camera and the

been waiting for me all this time. The audience is murmuring in

from their booth. Daniel

work. And the timer hasn’t

wasted several minutes

I murmur as I dash past the camera and back to

countdown to an explosion that may or may

utterly helpless in this

Daniel’s station, I catch his eyes.

at work, his sous chef cooking with one hand, although I

Daniel shoots me that look with that knowing glint in