Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Chatper 243

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—”

he interrupts firmly.

not stop. You must

I can’t cook without my

fair. Daniel still

or not,” Mr. Thompson retorts with a regretful shake

it’s not up to me. You do

seems so far from me now.

Karl. And I can’t do this all on

all okay,” I say. “He would never

This—this is a farce!”

have to pretend anything,”

here for, isn’t it? To prove yourself in

the station, at the unfinished dish

the stage—all of

is right; I can’t just abandon it

to go back,” Mr. Thompson

know Karl would

without him.”

my eyes for a fleeting second, letting his words

is right, yet

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

let this lie. Karl is

one of them.”

squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll look

Personally.”

around and run back on stage, where the

all this time. The audience is murmuring in

at me from

work. And the timer hasn’t paused

several minutes over

the camera and back to my station. The

like a ticking time bomb, a countdown to

feel utterly

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

chef cooking with one hand, although I know

look with that

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