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—”

firmly. “The judges have made it

will not stop. You

mind races. “But I can’t cook without my

“It’s not fair. Daniel still has his sous

Mr. Thompson retorts with a regretful shake of his head, “those

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

me now. It doesn’t

do this all on my own. I need a

okay,” I say. “He

This—this is a farce!”

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

isn’t it? To

at the unfinished dish lying

the stage—all of

right; I can’t just abandon

back,” Mr. Thompson murmurs, his voice

with concern. “You know Karl would want you to

without him.”

close my eyes for a fleeting second, letting his words

Thompson is

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

dish, but I won’t let this lie.

one of them.”

Mr. Thompson says, squeezing my

Personally.”

and run back on stage, where the

all this time. The

me from their booth. Daniel and his

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

several minutes

murmur as I dash past the camera and back to my

bomb, a countdown to an explosion that may

And I feel utterly

station, I catch his eyes. He and

sous chef cooking with one hand, although I know

injured. Daniel shoots me that look with that knowing glint in his eyes,