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. “The
stop. You must continue
“But I can’t cook without my
“It’s not fair. Daniel still
Mr. Thompson retorts with a
Abby, but it’s not up to me. You do want
from me now. It doesn’t feel right to
do this all on my own. I need a sous
pretend that this is all okay,” I say. “He
This—this is a farce!”
anything,” Mr. Thompson
here for, isn’t it? To prove yourself in
glance back at the station, at the
the lights, the eyes on the stage—all of it
I can’t
have to go back,” Mr. Thompson murmurs, his
Karl would want you to
without him.”
for a fleeting second, letting his words anchor
Thompson is right, yet
say, though each word feels hollow,
I won’t let this lie. Karl is many
one of them.”
says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll
Personally.”
whirl around and run back on stage, where the
waiting for me all this time. The audience is murmuring in
me from
work. And the timer hasn’t
wasted several
dash past the camera
a ticking time bomb, a countdown to an explosion that may
I feel utterly helpless
station, I catch
at work, his sous chef cooking with one hand, although I know
look with that
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