The Candymakers

by Wendy Mass

  Max handed him a measuring cup filled with some kind of red goo and apparently expected him to do something with it. So he tossed it in the direction of the nearest machine. It didn’t occur to him to hold on to the cup as he did it. He watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the cup bounced off the machine, hit the ground, and sent the red liquid flying. Not his finest moment.

  “Don’t worry,” Max said, “that’s why they call them accidents.”

  “Accidents?” Philip repeated. Was that what everyone thought had happened to Logan? That he’d had an accident? But that wasn’t really the truth of it.

  The others were looking at him. He had to snap out of it and focus. Fortunately, being obnoxious came easily to him, and in no time he had everyone convinced that he knew exactly what kind of candy he was going to make and that it was a secret. Telling everyone that he didn’t trust them not to steal his idea was just icing on the cake.

  “I prefer to win the contest first,” he said when they argued with him. “And then I can control what happens next.” As he expected, they didn’t like that answer. But that was the point. He might have kept the argument going, but for the first time that day, his notebook called to him. He darted over to his station and grabbed his pencil. Musical notes flew across the page so fast he could barely keep up.

  The door swung open a minute later, and Philip didn’t need to look up to know it was the Candymaker and his wife. His cheeks burned as he remembered his short exchange with Logan’s mother in the hallway outside the Taffy Room. Had she told Logan he was crying? He sure hoped not.

  Henry had recognized him as soon as he’d seen him. What if the Candymaker did, too? He kept his head down and hoped they’d leave before he had to talk to them. But then the Candymaker’s wife said, “Nice to see you again, Philip,” and his heart sank.

  He looked up to see the Candymaker striding straight toward him. He held his breath as he waited for recognition to cross the man’s face. Yesterday he’d been worried about being known as the kid who broke our machine and got banned, and now he’d be the kid who caused the Candymaker’s son to get burned and then never came back to play with him. Much, much worse.

  But all the Candymaker said was something about Henry being impressed with his ambition. Philip breathed a sigh of relief. The Candymaker’s wife didn’t embarrass him; Henry wasn’t going to tell anyone what he knew; the Candymaker himself didn’t recognize him. He was free to continue with his new plan, which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t any different from the old plan. His goal had always been to win the contest. The only thing that had changed was the reason why.

  He couldn’t believe his luck when Logan admitted he hadn’t asked anyone at the factory for help with his project. That meant the odds of Logan coming up with anything good enough to win weren’t as high as Philip had previously feared. But time was running out, and the others would soon see that he didn’t have anything.

  So while everyone was already annoyed at him, he figured he’d annoy them even more by demanding that Max put a barrier around his station. That would keep prying eyes away.

  Max sent them off to do research, and when Philip saw that no one was moving, he realized that Miles and Daisy hadn’t the slightest clue about what to make either. He could only hope the other twenty-eight contestants were similarly unprepared. He doubted he’d get that lucky, though.

  He’d had every intention of heading directly to the Marshmallow Room, but somehow he found himself turning the knob on the storeroom door instead. With a backward glance to make sure he was alone in the hall, he slipped in and pulled on the light. No way would the Candymaker leave the door unlocked if he knew the riches it contained. How could anyone be in possession of a Stradivarius and not know it?

  Ten seconds later he was cradling the violin in his hands, mentally playing his concerto on it. He was sure the notes would be so pure, so perfect, they’d set the stars on fire. “What am I talking about?” he asked out loud, shaking his head. He’d been hanging around Reggie too long. The only thing he needed to set on fire was some chocolate.

  But while half his brain was yelling at him for being in here instead of doing research for his candy project, the other half had the brilliant idea of checking the cello case for a bow. He sighed, wishing, as he did every day, that he wasn’t a slave to this instrument. Holding the violin aloft in one hand, he awkwardly brought the cello case to the ground.

  The three rusty latches were a little tricky to open with one hand, but he did it. The cello itself was in even worse shape than the violin. All but one of the strings was missing, and a crack extended halfway across the neck. But beside it lay a bow!

  The hairs were frayed and bone-dry, but it might still work. Unable to help himself, he brought the bow up to the violin. Right as he was about to draw it across the three strings, his eyes landed on a small shiny envelope stuck against the side of the cello case. Could it be? It was! Two extra violin strings! He quickly got to work replacing and tuning the D string. He stuck the extra one back in the violin case for safe keeping. Unable to keep the smile from his face, he raised the bow again just as Miles’s and Logan’s voices drifted past the room. Philip froze and prayed they wouldn’t have any reason to come in.

  Afraid to move, his eyes darted around the room for a place to hide if they did come in. Nothing. He did notice a plastic bin under the sink that he hadn’t seen before, though. It held small plastic harmonicas, brightly colored Super Balls, and wooden yo-yos. The outside of the box said PRIZES.

  The voices passed, and once he could breathe again, he crept toward the box.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A candy harmonica?” Henry repeated.

  “Yes! But not just candy in the shape of a harmonica—my harmonica would really play!”

  Henry didn’t answer right away. He stirred his marshmallow mixture one more time, then his face lit up. “I love it!”

  “Really?” Philip asked. Then he scowled at himself. He sounded like a little boy. “I mean, you think it’s good enough to win?”

  “It could be,” Henry said. “It depends on how well you make it. What ingredients you use, how you create the mold, how you get it to play the right notes… hey, are you okay?”

  Philip was rubbing his temples. “Sure. I’m just great. The fate of the whole factory is in my hands, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Henry turned off the flame and took a notepad and pencil from his desk. “Okay, let’s go through it together. What do you see the harmonica being made of? Hard candy? Gummy candy? Chocolate?”

  Philip thought for a minute. “How about hard candy? Then it won’t melt when you play it.”

  Henry nodded thoughtfully. “That would be the obvious choice, but…”

  “But?”

  “Well, for the contest, the judges are looking for something truly different and inventive. You may have to dig deeper.”

  Philip stared into the pot of gooey marshmallow, willing the ideas to come. A few minutes later, one actually did. He looked up, excited. “What if I made the outside a mix of different kinds of chocolate, with something thicker inside, like a cookie maybe, so it won’t get too mushy after the person starts playing it? And it could come with a tin of something gummy that you could stick into the little openings on the side of the harmonica to create different notes?”

  Henry scrawled down Philip’s suggestions. When he was done, he tucked the pencil behind his ear and said, “Sounds great.”

  Philip grinned.

  “You look good when you smile,” Henry said. “You should do it more often.”

  Philip rolled his eyes. “I’ll get right on that. Now, what’s my first step?”

  Henry held the notepad up again. Before he could answer, Philip’s cell phone rang.

  “Sorry, be right back.” He pulled his phone out of the briefcase and stepped into the hall. He knew by the ring that it was Reggie.

  “What is it?” Philip said. “I’m creating a work o
f confectionary art here.”

  “Well, it better be really tasty, because your father didn’t call off the guy he has on the inside. He’s still trying to get that formula.”

  Philip gripped the phone tighter. “Are you sure?”

  “I heard him confirming on the phone that the guy was still in place. You didn’t hear it from me,” Reggie said before hanging up.

  Philip stayed in the hall until his head stopped feeling like it was about to explode. He supposed he couldn’t blame his father. After all, if he didn’t win the contest, his father would still continue with his plans for the factory. Business was business. Nothing he could do about it.

  Or was there?

  He pushed open the door to the Marshmallow Room and said, “Can you write down the ingredients for me? I’ve gotta go do something.”

  “Should I ask what?”

  Philip shook his head. “Better that you don’t know.”

  Henry nodded. “Be careful. The walls have eyes around here.”

  “I will,” he promised. Then he turned back. “Not, like, real eyes, right? Like cameras?”

  Henry shook his head. “Only outside. But still, word spreads fast here.”

  “Got it.”

  His first stop would be the lab, to retrieve a tool kit he’d spied in the closet. His stomach growled as he strode past the cafeteria, but he had no time to eat. Although if he got caught doing what he was about to do, he might be eating bread and water for a good long while.

  The laboratory hallway was empty. Everyone must be at lunch, which meant no one would hear him. This time he didn’t even fight it. He ducked into the storeroom, picked up the violin, put the bow in position, and pulled it across the strings.

  The violin sang.

  Even with the strings in such bad condition, it outshone any he’d ever played. Philip closed his eyes. His fingers and the bow moved without him even thinking. He lost himself completely to the music. When he finished playing the new section he’d written the day before, he put down the bow. He always felt exhilarated after playing, but this, this was a whole different thing. He felt as if he could fly.

  It took a few minutes before he could make himself put the violin back in its case. He opened the storeroom door a crack to make sure the coast was clear, then hurried to the lab. He stopped short when he saw Miles with that ever-present backpack over his shoulder. What was he doing here? What if he’d heard him playing?

  Philip stared at him, daring him to say anything about the music. Instead, Miles wound up telling him all about Logan’s project. He could tell Miles regretted it as soon as he’d said it, but hey, that should teach him to be more on his toes. He was too much of a pushover.

  Miles left the lab in a huff, and Philip pulled out the toolbox and opened it. He chose a few screwdrivers and a pair of pliers. Usually he had these sorts of tools in his briefcase, since he never knew when breaking and entering would be necessary in the course of a contest, but with so much else to think about, he’d forgotten to pack them.

  He wrapped the tools in a rag that he found in a drawer and stuck them in his jacket pocket. Being sure to stay on the opposite side of the hall from the storeroom so he wouldn’t be tempted again, he ran without stopping to the place where everything began.

  He had hoped to find the Cocoa Room empty. Instead, the Candymaker himself was in there, along with the two workers from the day before and two men in suits Philip did not know. They were all talking and laughing and having a grand old time. The Candymaker was leaning over one of the machines. His voice was loud enough to carry through the glass. “And this, my friends, is how we get our signature swirl on the top of all our chocolate.”

  “Bravo!” the older of the two men shouted and clapped. Then they all laughed again.

  They didn’t look as if they were leaving any time soon. Well, if he couldn’t get to the secret ingredient, then neither could his father’s guy. He had turned to go when he heard knocking on the window behind him.

  He turned back to see the Candymaker waving him in. He’d rather be anywhere than in that room with the Candymaker, but he figured he couldn’t exactly run away now. He squared his shoulders and tried to look as tall and old as possible in case the Candymaker’s memory kicked in.

  He swung the door open, noting as he passed through that it had no lock after all. “Hello,” he said uncertainly.

  “Hello, Philip,” the Candymaker boomed, striding forward and putting his arm around his shoulders. Turning to the group, he said, “This is another one of our contestants.”

  Lenny and Steve nodded to him and then retreated to the other side of the room to crack open some more pods with those long axelike things. In between loud thwacks, the two men in suits introduced themselves as fellow candymakers here for a visit before the convention.

  “Whipping up something really special to wow the judges?” the younger of the two asked.

  Thwack!

  Philip jumped a little. “I hope so.” And then, since he figured it would be a good idea to get on the Candymaker’s good side, he added, “I’m sure it’s not as good as whatever Logan’s doing, though.”

  “Couldn’t tell you that,” the Candymaker said. “He hasn’t confided in me.”

  Thwack!

  “Really?” the older visitor said. “I assumed he’d have gotten help from his famous papa.”

  They all laughed again, and the Candymaker shook his head. “Logan wanted to do this on his own. I think he believes he has something to prove to us, which of course he doesn’t.”

  The older man said, “Do you think he’ll follow in the Sweet family’s shoes and be the next Candymaker?”

  “Hey, I’m not gone yet!” the Candymaker joked. “Don’t rush me into retirement!” This got a big laugh. Philip smiled, too. He wasn’t used to adults talking so freely around him, as if he were one of them.

  Then the Candymaker’s expression turned serious. “I’m not sure, to be honest. He might prefer to be more, ah, behind the scenes, as it were. Because of his… situation.”

  “Ah yes,” the older man said, nodding. “That makes sense.”

  “He’s a brave boy, he is,” added the younger.

  Thwack!

  Philip looked from one to the other. Were they talking about Logan’s appearance? They must be. He didn’t know Logan very well, but from what he’d seen these past two days, Logan didn’t seem bothered at all by his scars. Maybe he just hid it really well.

  He had to get out of that room before the guilt threatened to swallow him whole.

  “I should get back,” he said, inching toward the door. “Gotta, you know, make that candy and all.”

  “Good luck,” they called out.

  As the door swung shut behind him, he heard Steve (or was it Lenny?) say, “He’ll need it!” Followed by thwack!

  Why would someone say that? Did he know something? Was the contest rigged? He sure hoped not, or all his efforts would be wasted. Annoyed at not being able to do what he’d set out to do, he had no choice but to head back to the Marshmallow Room.

  As he approached the cafeteria, the toe of his shoe sent a folded piece of paper sliding across the floor. The room was full of people eating, but no one seemed to be missing anything. He picked the paper up and unfolded it.

  Hi guys, have lunch without me,

  went to go check on the horse.

  Hugs, Daisy.

  Aha! He knew he smelled horse!

  He held the note up to one of the lights in the ceiling. Underneath the crossed-out section he could see the word Magpie. He lowered the note. She confused her best friend with a horse? What a strange girl.

  So that meant Miles and Logan were off eating lunch instead of working on their projects. Good. He ran the rest of the way and burst into the room.

  “Okay, Henry. What have you got for me?”

  Henry, carrying a huge tray of cooling marshmallows, gestured with his chin to the notepad on the desk.

  Philip read the
list: dark chocolate, milk chocolate, cookie wafer, beeswax, marshmallow, mold tray.

  “Pretty straightforward, really,” Henry said after placing the tray on a high cooling rack in the back of the room. “And it’s not because I’m biased, but I think marshmallow goes better with chocolate than gummy does, so I went with that.”

  “What’s beeswax for?”

  “I think if you use it to coat the cookie, it will keep its shape better. Also form a barrier between the chocolate and the cookie. But I’ve never tried to make anything other than marshmallows, so Max will have to help you from here on.”

  Philip tore off the page and put it in his jacket. “Thanks, Henry.” He extended his hand to shake Henry’s, but the man had already begun stirring a pot of marshmallow mix, humming as he stirred.

  Philip pulled his hand back and smiled.

  When he arrived back at the lab, he nearly dropped his briefcase in surprise. Max had erected temporary walls around each of their stations. Excellent!

  “So what do you think?” Max asked, coming out from behind one of the walls.

  Philip wiped the smile from his face. “It’ll do.” Then he remembered he needed Max’s help. “Can you, um, help me a little?”

  Max’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. They walked around to Philip’s station, where he handed Max the list.

  “So you’ve been to visit Henry?”

  Philip felt the blood drain from his face. Had Henry told Max everything? Who else knew? “Um, how did you know?”

  Max held up the paper. “I recognize the handwriting.”

  “Oh,” Philip said with relief. “Yes, he helped me put this list together but said that you would take it from here.”

  “Okay, but you’ll need to tell me what you’re planning—how else could I help?”

  In response, Philip took out the plastic harmonica and laid it on the table. “I want to make this. But out of candy. And I want it to play real notes.”