by Wendy Mass
Logan took one more lick of the honey, then took a small jar off a nearby table and let the rest drip into it. Randall would want to sample it for himself. “Later, Paulo!”
“Later, dude. And other dudes. And dudette.”
“Now can we make some candy?” Philip asked as they stripped off their gear in the hall.
“Soon enough,” Max promised. “Right now it’s lunchtime. Chocolate pizza’s on the menu today!”
Miles’s stomach growled so loudly in response that everyone laughed.
“I’ll drop off the honey jar at the Quality Control Office and meet you there,” Logan said with a backward wave. He hurried up and down the staircases and along the corridors now bustling with workers on lunch break. He weaved in and out, holding the honey jar close. He loved the way the unprocessed honey glowed a deep orange. It took a lot of restraint not to stick his finger in.
Randall stood outside the door of his office, beaming, as Logan approached. The tall, thin man took the jar of honey, stuck a finger in, and swirled it through the thick orange goop, then licked his finger.
“Good job, my boy!” Randall said. “I knew if anyone could get to the bottom of the problem, it would be you.”
Logan smiled up at him. Randall never missed an opportunity to build up his confidence. Now that Logan was twelve, he knew what Randall was doing, but he didn’t mind. “See ya, Randall!” he said, taking off again. “It’s chocolate pizza day!”
“Don’t run in the halls,” Randall teased.
“I won’t!” Logan called back, laughing.
The cafeteria was only around the corner, and he knew the others wouldn’t have gotten there yet. He was lost in thought, thinking of all the different ways he would eat his chocolate pizza slices, when they arrived. And someone else was with them. Logan could spot that mop of bright white hair from miles away. Henry from Marshmallows had been at the factory ever since Logan’s grandfather founded it fifty years before. When his grandfather left a few years ago for that special part of heaven reserved for people who have made other people’s lives sweeter, Logan began spending more time with Henry. He always had good stories to share of the olden days at the factory, and Logan never tired of listening to them.
“Hi, Henry!” Logan said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to stop by this morning.”
Henry put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “That’s okay, my boy. I just had the pleasure of meeting your new friends. They came by to tell me to expect a new batch of honey in a few hours. What an exciting journey you’re all embarking upon! And what nobler calling is there than inventing a new way to make people happy?”
“I told you so,” Daisy said to Philip. “You should be making candy to make people happy, not just to win.”
Logan expected Philip to have a quick comeback, but he merely nodded absently, looking at Henry out of the corner of his eye almost suspiciously.
“C’mon, kids,” Max said, handing them each a green plastic tray and ushering them into the line. “I thought we’d get our pizza and take it out to the lawn for a picnic.”
Logan beamed at this welcome news. He disliked being inside for more than a few hours at a time. Plus the caterpillar he had been watching for the past few weeks would be shedding its chrysalis any day now. He wanted to chart its progress.
While they waited on line, Max told the others that if they were interested, he would take them out on the pond after lunch. “We have a few rowboats and a canoe, so there would be plenty of room for everyone.”
Both Philip and Miles shook their heads and answered at the same time, which made it hard to hear either one.
Max bent down a bit toward them. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I just want to get to work,” Philip repeated.
“I’m allergic to rowboats,” said Miles.
Daisy asked it first. “How can someone be allergic to rowboats?”
Miles shrugged. “I just am.”
By this point they had reached the front of the line, so getting chocolate pizza onto their trays took priority over boat allergies. Daisy asked for four slices. She got a raised eyebrow from Mary, the chocolate pizza maker. But she got her request.
“Two for you?” Mary asked Logan, holding out his slices.
Logan nodded. “Thanks, Mary.”
To look at Mary, with her chocolate-stained apron and her ability to slice pizza into perfect triangles without losing a single tiny marshmallow in the process, you’d think she’d worked there for years instead of only months. But that’s how it went at the factory. When a new employee arrived, it seemed as though the right job had been there all along, waiting for just that person to fill it.
Unable to resist, Logan leaned down and bit the point off one of his slices. The dough was sweet, the chocolate sauce and marshmallow topping warm and gooey.
Philip watched him with a look that bordered on disgust. “Do you have anything else?” he asked Mary.
She stopped cutting midslice. “Anything else? Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Philip said. “Like regular pizza? You know, with cheese? And tomato sauce?”
Mary wiped off the chocolate pizza slicer on her apron. “We do indeed have regular pizza,” she said. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I can whip one up for you.”
Philip gave his usual single nod.
“I’d like to be at the Marshmallow Room when the new batch of honey arrives,” Henry said, leaning over the counter and carefully lifting off two slices. “So I can wait in here with the young man—Philip, is it?”
“That work for you, Philip?” Max asked, handing everyone an apple and a small carton of milk.
Philip hesitated as if he were about to argue, then nodded grimly.
The back door of the cafeteria let them out in the middle of the lawn. To their right lay the pastures where the cows and chickens roamed inside their tall white picket fences. To their left, acres of red and yellow and orange fruits and green vegetables provided a colorful contrast to the wheat and barley and cornfields.
And the smells! The smells in the factory, as wonderful as they were, had a slightly processed odor, even though they all came from pure ingredients. The air outside smelled like earth and newly growing things. Logan looked over at the pond glittering in the distance. The empty boats bobbed welcomingly in the slight current. “Definitely allergic to rowboats, eh?” he asked Miles as they followed Max and Daisy through the groups of factory workers enjoying their lunches.
“Yup, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Logan said, wondering what form an allergy to rowboats would take. Hives? Throat closing up? Something totally weird like an inability to see the color red anymore? He thought it would probably be rude to ask.
“I can’t believe you actually live here,” Miles said.
“I know,” Logan agreed. “I’m very lucky.” As soon as he said the words, he wished he could take them back. After all, he didn’t really know anything about Miles’s life. He wouldn’t want to make anyone feel bad just because they didn’t live in a candy factory.
Max led them to an empty red-and-white-checked blanket near a thicket of elm trees. They quickly settled around it, placing their trays gently on the ground in front of them. Within seconds, everyone had a slice of chocolate pizza in hand.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” Daisy said, chewing slowly and deliberately.
Miles nodded enthusiastically. “I may never eat anything else.”
“You know what would be perfect?” Daisy said. “A tall stack of buttermilk pancakes for breakfast, chocolate pizza for lunch, a Pepsicle for snack, and then this again for dinner!”
Logan had to agree, although he’d throw in a lot more candy throughout the day.
Miles said, “I agree with everything except the breakfast part.”
“Why?” Daisy laughed. “Are you allergic to pancakes, too?”
Miles nodded. Daisy stopped laughing. “Seriously?”
Miles
nodded again.
“Anything else?” Daisy asked.
“The color pink,” he replied, glancing warily at Daisy’s one pink sock. “Hot pretzels with mustard, merry-go-rounds, and jazz music.”
No one spoke.
“You are very strange,” Daisy finally said, shaking her head.
Miles shrugged. “In the afterlife, everybody’s strange because nobody’s trying to impress anyone.”
“Like I said, strange.”
“I think everyone is strange in some way,” Logan said. “I mean, I am, at least.”
Miles glanced at Daisy, who put her hand on Logan’s arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Their serious expressions made him hesitate. Even Max had stopped chewing. What did they think he was talking about? He shook it off. They were probably just playing around. He laughed. “It’s nothing serious. My pinky toe sticks out sideways.” He reached down to his sneaker. “Do you guys want to see?”
“No!” they all said at the same time.
“Don’t you have anything weird about you?” Logan asked Daisy, glad that the serious mood seemed to have quickly passed. He must have imagined it.
She looked down at her own feet. “Well, I can never find matching socks!”
“That’s it?” Miles asked.
She shrugged. “I’m allergic to bees. Don’t know if that’s exactly weird, though.”
Max, Logan, and Miles all stared at her with concern. “You’re allergic to bees?” Max repeated. “And yet you came into the Bee Room with us?”
Daisy frowned. “I guess I didn’t really think about it.”
Miles and Logan shared a look. “What happens if you’re stung?” Logan asked.
“I don’t remember. I was only stung once, when I was really little. I was out with my grandmother. She must have gotten me to a hospital or something.”
Max just shook his head. “Anything else you’d like to tell us before we put your life at risk again?”
“If I think of anything,” Daisy said with a laugh, “I’ll let you know.” She stood up and pointed a few feet away. “Is it okay if I go read under that tree over there?”
“Of course,” Max said. “Do you have a book with you?”
Daisy patted her pocketbook. “Always.”
“Me, too,” Miles said, then frowned. “Well, except today.”
She headed off to the tree, and Logan turned to Miles. “So how do you know so much about the afterlife?”
“I’m just interested in it,” Miles said, biting into his apple. After chewing for a long time, he added, “I do a lot of research.”
“Like in the library?” Logan asked. Mrs. Gepheart had shown him books on different religions and philosophies, but he didn’t recall anything about the afterlife.
Miles nodded. “Sometimes, but people tell me things, too.” He took another bite and chewed it so slowly it was clear he didn’t plan on elaborating.
Logan glanced over at Daisy. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she was reading her book upside-down! She must have realized it, because she soon flipped it the right way again.
Philip showed up with his (ugh) regular cheese pizza.
“Did you have any trouble finding us?” Max asked, sliding over.
Philip placed his tray and briefcase on the ground before straightening out his suit and sitting. “No. The sun glinted off your head and made you easy to spot.”
Max laughed and rubbed his shiny head. “I knew this thing would come in handy one day.” Looking at Philip’s tray, he said, “You only got one piece? Is there something else you’d prefer?”
“This is fine. I don’t believe in eating too much at meals. Digestion slows down the brain.”
“Actually, son, food provides energy for the brain.”
“Can you please just keep talking about whatever you were talking about before I got here?” Philip asked.
“That would be the afterlife,” Max said, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Philip groaned. “Anything but that.” He squinted in the sun.
“Do you want to switch places?” Logan offered.
“It’s okay,” Philip mumbled, shading his eyes as he ate. Logan got the distinct feeling that Philip didn’t spend much time outdoors. This suspicion was confirmed when Max suggested they all go for a run around the pond to get some oxygen into their systems, and Philip asked, “Why would anyone run unless he was being chased?”
“Well, we can stay right here, then,” Logan said, lying down on his back. “And play Name That Cloud.”
Miles flopped onto his back, too. “I love that game!” Looking up and shading his eyes, he pointed to a big fluffy cloud. “How about that one?”
“Hmm,” Logan murmered, deep in thought. “A frog sitting on a phone book eating an Icy Mint Blob!”
“That’s exactly what I was going to say!” Philip said. Logan and Miles lifted their heads in surprise. “Really?” they asked at the same time.
Philip, who wasn’t even looking at the sky, shook his head. “No, not really.”
They lay back down with a groan. “Some people have no imagination,” Miles said, loud enough for Philip to hear.
“I don’t know,” Logan said, staring back up at the clouds. “Maybe some people just haven’t tried.”
Logan turned his head slightly to glance at Philip. He was too busy scribbling in his notebook to pay any attention to their conversation. What could he be taking notes on out here? He considered walking behind him and stealing a quick look but thought better of it. He wouldn’t like it if someone peeked at his sketchpads without asking, and this was pretty much the same thing. He turned back to Miles. “Wanna see if my caterpillar turned into a butterfly yet?”
“Sure,” Miles replied, pushing himself up. “I’ll go see if Daisy wants to come, too.”
“Be back in five minutes,” Max said.
As Logan made his way around the blanket, he mistakenly kicked Miles’s backpack, which was lying in his path. It slid onto the grass, so he reached down to move it back to the blanket. From the size of it, he expected it to be heavy; instead, it felt as light as air. But it was full—thick and bulky, as if there was a balloon inside, which couldn’t possibly be the case.
He quickly caught up to Miles, and they approached Daisy together. She was leaning back against the tree, holding the book right up to her face and reading out loud.
“Love’s Last Dance?” Miles asked, looking at the cover.
Daisy quickly closed the book and laid it down in her lap.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a romance reader,” Miles said.
“Why not?” Daisy replied, crossing her arms.
“You just seem more, I don’t know, practical.”
“Can’t a girl be both?”
“I have no idea,” Miles replied.
“I used to read out loud to myself, too,” Logan said.
“It’s a bad habit,” Daisy admitted. “And a little embarrassing when the book is called Love’s Last Dance!”
“A little,” Logan agreed. “Do you want to come check on my caterpillar with us?”
Daisy shook her head and gestured to the book. “I’m at a good part. The son of the ranch owner is about to propose to the cowboy’s daughter!”
“Wow,” Miles said in mock sincerity. “That really does sound like a good part!”
Daisy kicked him playfully in the shin.
“C’mon,” Logan said, taking Miles by the arm. “Let’s let her read in peace. We only have a few minutes.”
Miles made a big show of rubbing his shin as they left. Logan led the way to the far corner of the field, where the milkweed, clover, and marigolds grew. He tiptoed to the white clover bush and knelt in front of it.
“He’s still there,” Logan whispered, pointing to the underside of a leaf.
The caterpillar’s chrysalis hung by the thinnest of threads, like a silver strand of spun sugar. Logan had rigged up a temporary shelter for it out
of some twigs and gauze. That way, if it rained or a big wind kicked up, it should be protected.
He tested the twigs to make sure they were still sturdy, then took out his pencil and notebook, flipping quickly to the chart on the last page. He wanted to make sure Miles didn’t see his drawings. Not because they were bad—he freely admitted they were—but because most of them were of dinosaurs, some with two heads. He had a sneaking suspicion that at his age drawing dinosaurs was no longer acceptable unless you were planning on being a paleontologist. Which, of course, he wasn’t.
Logan entered the date on his chart and quickly sketched what he saw. The pod looked bigger than yesterday and thinner, too. He swore he could see butterfly wings stuffed in up there, just bursting to get out. It was three weeks exactly since the black-yellow-and-red-striped caterpillar had spun the tight casing around itself, and Logan knew that any day it would emerge as a butterfly. Every spring he tried to catch one doing its final molting. And every spring he had failed.
“It’s really cool,” Miles said, his eyes wide.
“I know,” Logan agreed. “If you look closely, you can see the colors that the butterfly’s wings will be when it’s born.”
Miles bent down for a closer look. “Red, right?”
Logan nodded and flipped his sketchpad closed. “Come on, we should get back.”
They stood up just as Max came around the bend with Daisy and Philip following.
“What is that thing?” Philip said, peering at the thin thread that held the fledgling butterfly.
“It’s a butterfly chrysalis,” Logan said. “Haven’t you seen one before?”
“You should take it down,” Philip scoffed. “It’s diseased. It’s going to kill that whole bush.”
Logan moved in front of it protectively. “There’s nothing wrong with it. That’s how they’re supposed to look.”
Philip shuddered.
“Okay, enough nature for one day,” Max said, putting his arm around Philip’s shoulder and leading them all away. “The rest of the afternoon you’ll get to be in a nice environmentally controlled room with no windows. Does that make you happy?”