The Candymakers

by Wendy Mass

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gummzilla is by far superior,” Miles insisted, shading his eyes from the bright morning sun. “His tail alone could toss Gummysaurus Rex to the next city block!”

  Logan shook his head. “So wrong. Gummysaurus Rex could trample Gummzilla with one foreleg!”

  Miles had been very happy to see Logan waiting for him when he arrived for Day Two. Still, he had to insist that Gummzilla would tower over Gummysaurus Rex. He started to tell Logan this, but an odd clip-clopping sound made him stop. It almost sounded like a horse.

  A giant black horse, in fact. A giant black horse with Daisy on its back. His thoughts raced back to the day at the lake. After he and his parents reported the incident, the whole area had been roped off and everyone asked to leave. The merry-go-round had gone around and around with its empty horses. Merry-go-rounds and their ghost riders gave him the chills.

  Any dark thoughts vanished, though, as soon as they were inside and Miles saw the candymaking machines set up in the center of the lab. He rushed over to peer at the insides of the High-Jumping Jelly Beans. The insides! He never could have dreamt of seeing such a thing. Sure, he was used to seeing inside when he bit into one, but this was entirely different. Now he could see the outsides of the insides. And who ever got to see that?

  When he got his turn to fling the glaze into the urn of rotating beans, he held on really tight, not wanting to make the same mistake Philip had. The liquid streamed out in a long arc, spraying and coating the jelly bean insides as they banged around in the rotating urn. He felt like a real scientist.

  When the chocolate in the enrober began cascading onto the Oozing Crunchoramas, Miles literally had to lock his hands behind his back. The urge to feel the chocolate running over his open palm was nearly overwhelming.

  “Do any of you know what you want to make yet?” Max asked.

  Philip was the only one to respond. He sounded so confident and so protective of his recipe that Miles began to doubt anyone would be able to beat him. Not that he’d ever tell him that.

  When Max shooed them out of the room to go do research, Miles had only one place to go. He wanted to tell Logan about his project, especially after Logan shared his amazing idea for the Bubbletastic ChocoRocket, but he felt weird about it. He didn’t really know enough yet.

  “Hey, you’re the little dude who fainted,” Paulo said when Miles walked into the Bee Room ten minutes later, fully decked out in his protective gear.

  “I didn’t faint,” Miles said, eyeing a bee buzzing dangerously close to his nose. “I fell. It’s different.”

  Paulo wiped his hands with a wet rag, wrung it out, and laid it over a nearby post. “If you say so. So what brings you back? There isn’t a problem with the honey again, is there?”

  Miles shook his head. “Actually I just came to ask you a few questions. About honey.”

  “Then I’m the guy you want.” He gestured Miles over to a bench away from most of the activity. They sat, the bees buzzing in the background adding a sort of musical undertone.

  “Basically,” Miles explained, “I want to make some sort of honey-based candy. But with a soft consistency, not like a hard candy that could hurt your teeth. Oh, and I’d like it to look like a bee.”

  “A bee?” Paulo repeated.

  Miles nodded.

  Paulo rested his chin on his hands and said, “Interesting, very interesting. Well, I can help you with the honey part. Making it look like a bee is up to you.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Paulo explained how bees made both honey and wax, how you could distinguish between different types of honey, which were best for baking, and how long and laborious a task it was for the bees to make it in the first place. By the end of the lesson, Miles had begun to second-guess his plans. He worried that it wouldn’t be fair to make a honey-based candy when it would take so many bees to do it.

  “Let me guess,” Paulo said, leaning back on the bench. “You’re feeling guilty.”

  Miles looked up, surprised. “How’d you know?”

  “I saw that same expression on Logan’s face when he was four years old. He saw how the process worked and asked if taking the bees’ honey was like stealing. I explained that making honey is what bees do. It’s their purpose. They make it to eat themselves, but they make much, much more than they need. Since then Logan’s made it his duty to make sure the bees know they’re appreciated for their hard work.” Paulo shook his head. “Great kid, great kid.”

  “Wait,” Miles said, “you were here that long ago?”

  Paulo nodded. “I’ve been here since I was fifteen. The Candymaker hires teenagers during the summer and sort of grooms us to work here when we get out of school.”

  Miles saw his opportunity and took it. “So you were here when Logan, um, when whatever happened to Logan… happened?”

  Paulo let out a long breath. “Indeed I was, little dude, indeed I was.”

  “Can you, um, tell me about it?” Miles held his breath.

  “Logan didn’t tell you?” Paolo said, not really sounding surprised.

  Miles shook his head.

  Paulo put his chin in his hands again. “Well, I figure it’s Logan’s tale to tell, if he wants to. I will tell you it was pretty bad. A lot changed around here after that. If Logan hadn’t been such a good kid, had such a big heart, it wouldn’t have happened, you know?”

  Miles shook his head.

  Paulo smiled sadly and stood up. “That’s the best I can do. I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll tell you.”

  But Miles didn’t think he could. He thanked Paulo for his help and promised to bring him a sample of the bee candy if he figured out how to make it.

  His next stop was the Taffy Room, where he expected to run into Daisy. Most of the taffy makers must have gone to lunch, because Fran was the only one there. Miles watched from the door as she lifted a soft roll of orange-and-white-striped taffy onto the hook and started working at it so intently that he felt bad barging in. He purposely made a lot of noise by bumping and kicking the door so she wouldn’t be startled. She looked up and seemed genuinely glad to see him.

  “Miles!” she exclaimed. “Back for some more grape taffy?” Without waiting for an answer, she reached over to a heaping barrel and tossed him handfuls of the individually wrapped pieces. He laughed as he tried to catch them all.

  Stuffing them into his pockets, he said, “Actually, I’d really like some of the yellow ones for my project. I mean, if that’s okay.”

  She beamed. “Wonderful! I hoped someone would use taffy in their entry. C’mon!” She led him across the room to where a foot-long glob of yellow taffy sat cooling on a marble slab. “Would this be enough?”

  “Even half of that would be great.”

  She took a very sharp knife, cut it neatly in half, wrapped the chunk in wax paper, and presented it to him like a gift. Miles clutched the warm package to his chest.

  As they walked back to the door, something Fran had said came back to him. “Fran, you said you hoped one of us would use taffy in our project. Didn’t Daisy come to see you?”

  Fran shook her head. “Nope. And that girl has potential. Good arm strength, very important.”

  Miles crinkled his brows. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. But if you see her, tell her to stop by.”

  “Okay,” Miles promised. “Thanks for everything.” He headed back to the lab, wondering why Daisy had changed her mind about the taffy. He had to go right past the Some More S’mores Room, so he poked his head in to see if Daisy had gone there. The intoxicating aromas of chocolate and graham crackers and marshmallows overwhelmed him (but in a good way), and he had to hold on to the door.

  “Has anyone seen Daisy?” he asked, trying not to salivate as the S’mores came down the conveyor belt not two feet away from him.

  One of the S’more makers, a roly-poly guy who looked enough like a younger version of the Candymaker to be his brother, looked up from pouring a tray of marshmallows o
nto a slab of chocolate. “The girl in the bright yellow dress who you kids had to drag out yesterday?”

  Miles nodded. “That’s her.”

  The Candymaker’s look-alike shook his head. “Haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

  “Okay, thanks anyway.” He took one last inhale and forced himself to move on. He passed a closed unmarked door to a room where someone—one of the workers on a break, probably—was listening to classical music. His own parents were more light-rock types, so he never heard classical music except in elevators or at the eye doctor’s office. He didn’t realize he had slowed down until he noticed that his feet were no longer moving forward.

  That music! So powerful! So full of both sorrow and beauty! He was rooted to the spot. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he wiped them with the back of his hand, horrified at himself. He couldn’t let anyone see him crying at classical music of all things! Finally the music stopped, and he was able to move again. He hurried to the lab, trying not to think about what had just happened.

  The first thing he saw when he ducked into his station was the backpack on the floor next to his stool. He stared at it for a full minute. He hadn’t left it behind in all this time, and now he’d abandoned it without a second thought. He sighed and placed the taffy carefully in the center of the lab table. It looked as if it belonged, which he took as another good sign that he was on the right track.

  Before he forgot everything he had learned on his journey, he quickly wrote down what ingredients he’d need and how to prepare the honey to get the consistency he had in mind. He closed his notebook with a satisfied smile. He liked his plan. He was sure the girl would, too. It was time to meet the others for lunch. He grabbed his backpack and was halfway to the door when Philip strode in.

  Miles noticed that Philip looked flushed, and his eyes were shiny. Either he had been crying (which he highly doubted Philip was even capable of), or he was excited because his project was going so well.

  Miles cleared his throat and, as cheerfully as he could, asked, “Hey, how’s it going?”

  Philip stared at him like he’d just said bunnies could talk.

  Miles edged closer to the door. “Well, see ya. I was just dropping something off. You know, for my project.” Then, unable to resist, he added, “It’s pretty good, I think.”

  “Is that so?” Philip asked, crossing his arms. “You think you’ll win?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, Logan’s idea is so great. Not that yours isn’t, I’m sure. Or Daisy’s.”

  Philip laughed. “I’m not planning on losing to Daisy. Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean she’s going to win. And I bet Logan doesn’t even have a clue of what to enter. He’s not the brightest, you know. Or are you too busy buttering him up to notice?”

  Miles wanted to lunge at him. Or at the very least, to throw a bowl of jelly beans at his head. Instead, he gritted his teeth and said, “Oh, yeah? Logan’s idea is great! No one has ever been able to make chocolate turn into gum and back again. If anyone can do it, he can.”

  “Chocolate into gum?”

  Miles nodded fervently. “And back again!”

  “Interesting,” Philip mused, moving over to his station. “Very interesting.”

  Miles suddenly wished he’d kept his mouth shut. What had bragging about Logan’s idea done except tip off Philip to his plans? Ugh! Miles shifted his backpack and stormed out. Every once in a while he thought he saw a flash of something behind Philip’s eyes, some sort of pain hidden really, really deep. Now he wondered if he’d just wanted to believe it was there, wanted to believe that everyone had some good inside them. Maybe it just didn’t work like that.

  He hurried to the cafeteria, trying to convince himself that after all, Logan hadn’t specifically hidden his idea from Philip; it just happened that Philip hadn’t been in the room when Logan told everyone. At least he hoped Logan would see it that way when he found out.

  He scanned the cafeteria but didn’t see Logan anywhere. Mary, the woman who had given them their chocolate pizza yesterday, spotted him and waved him over. “Miles, right?”

  He nodded, surprised.

  She reached into her apron pocket, leaned over the counter, and handed him a note.

  “Um, thanks,” he said, going back to wait for the others.

  Hi guys, have lunch without me,

  went to go check on the horse.

  Hugs, Daisy.

  He showed the note to Logan when he got to the cafeteria a minute later. Miles was glad to have a distraction so he wouldn’t focus on the fact that he’d revealed Logan’s project.

  To keep himself from blurting out his blunder, he said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Do you think Daisy’s pretty?”

  Great, Miles thought as soon as he’d said it. Now he thinks I have a crush on Daisy. So he pretended he used to like a girl who’d moved away, which wasn’t even a complete lie. The girl at the park had in fact “moved away,” just to a very different place, not the next town over.

  Fortunately Logan didn’t ask any questions. After agreeing that they’d waited long enough for Philip, they went to Logan’s apartment for chocolate pizza. It was just as Miles had imagined Logan’s home would be—cozy and colorful, with thick rugs and red brick and lots of windows, and it smelled REALLY GOOD.

  The living room walls were lined with photographs—the older ones in faded black and white—of men and women standing next to various candy machines. He recognized the Candymaker as a young man and a white-haired man who could only be the original Candymaker, Logan’s grandfather.

  Lots of pictures showed Logan as a little boy—on his father’s shoulders or kneeling down at the great rubber-duck race or blowing a huge pink bubble. After age five, the pictures of Logan became more sporadic, maybe two a year. His smile was still just as wide.

  A lump formed in Miles’s throat, and he had to blink back tears.

  Thankfully, before Logan could notice that anything was wrong, Logan’s mom suggested they take a tour of the place.

  Logan showed him the framed candy-bar wrappers that lined the walls of the hallway. “Every candy Life Is Sweet has ever made is up here,” he said proudly.

  “Wow,” Miles said, glad to be talking of candy and not scars. He recognized most of the candies, even some that hadn’t been made for years.

  He thought he was doing okay until they got to the bathroom. Seeing the huge pile of aloe leaves made him choke up again. He knew aloe was used for healing wounds—they had learned that in fifth-grade science class.

  They didn’t get to Logan’s room because the Candymaker’s wife called them in for lunch. Miles felt slightly relieved. What if there was more skin stuff in there and he had to pretend he didn’t see it?

  The chocolate pizza tasted just as good the second day. Maybe better, if such a thing were possible. And now he had the promise of dinner at the apartment to look forward to.

  “Is it okay if I move in?” he asked the Candymaker’s wife.

  She laughed. “I think your parents might miss you.”

  He shrugged. “As long as I send home chocolate, my dad will be okay.”

  After lunch he washed his hands in the bathroom and accidentally knocked over a few aloe leaves when he reached for the towel. He scrambled to pick them up, hoping he hadn’t harmed them in any way. Suddenly, carrying around a life jacket all day seemed so pointless. He’d carried it faithfully every day. Only his parents and Mrs. Chen at the library had known what was in his backpack. But he could no sooner turn back the clock and give it to the girl to wear as she ran into the water than Logan could undo what had happened to him.

  As he let the backpack fall onto Logan’s bed, he felt much lighter. He almost laughed out loud to think that a life jacket had actually weighed him down, which is the opposite of its purpose.

  It felt so natural to fall right back into joking around with Logan that he was almost sorry when they reached the lab for the afternoon session. He was even s
orrier when he saw the walls that had been erected around their stations.

  The only thing to do was dive right in, so that’s what Miles did. He gathered all the ingredients he thought he’d need and put some butter in a pan. When it started to sizzle, he added sugar, milk, and corn syrup.

  Max dragged a stool over to Miles’s station. “So, young man, what have you got for me?” Max peered into the pan. “Caramel!” Then he picked up a small vial of black liquid, pulled out the cork, and sniffed. “Anise!”

  Miles nodded, pleased.

  “You’re making black licorice–flavored caramel!”

  Miles nodded again. Then he leaned in and whispered, “It’ll go around a ball of honey. Then tiny strands of yellow taffy will circle around it.”

  Max clapped his hands. “You’re making a bee!” He lowered his voice. “Out of candy!”

  “That’s the plan, at least!”

  Max squeezed his shoulder. “Wonderful!” He did a quick inventory of Miles’s station and said, “You’re going to need more honey. I’ll send for Paulo to drop some off.”

  The rest of the afternoon went by much too fast. Miles baked, boiled, cooled, rolled honey, flattened caramel, got taffy under his fingernails, and loved every minute of it. The only thing that lowered his spirits was seeing Logan struggle. Every once in a while something would crash to the floor, and then Logan would go out to the cabinets or the refrigerator to replace what he’d dropped.

  When the five o’clock bell rang, Miles felt ready to go. He’d done all he could. Daisy seemed pleased with her progress, too. He hadn’t been able to figure out what kind of candy she was making—he had caught a glimpse of what looked like a green glob of goop, but surely that couldn’t be it. He was sorry she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. He would have bombarded her with questions until she gave in and told them what her candy was.

  It seemed so natural walking out of the factory with Logan and Daisy. As if they’d been doing it their whole lives instead of only two days. He tried not to think about the fact that they’d only be together for one more day.