The Candymakers

by Wendy Mass

  He took one last look, then ripped the shirt off and put on his nicest short-sleeved one instead.

  Logan held his breath as he watched Philip flip over the Harmonicandy molds, which they had coated with cocoa powder to keep from sticking. They all cheered when the harmonica halves slid right out.

  Now all they needed to do was paint the insides with melted caramel (carefully, so it wouldn’t clog up the tubes), then stick the two halves together and enrobe it. Miles and Philip took care of the caramel part, and once Logan showed Daisy how to set up the enrober, she refused to allow anyone else near it. They’d just placed the final product in the freezer when Max walked in.

  “Good morning, young candymakers!” He slipped his lab coat on over his suit. “When can I see everyone’s creations?”

  “Mine still has to harden,” Philip said. “We’ll need to keep it cold in the van, too.”

  “Not a problem,” Max promised. “The van’s set up for that. How about the rest of you? Is everyone else’s ready to go?”

  “I still need to work on mine a little,” Miles said.

  “What did you decide to call it?” Max asked.

  Miles hesitated. Logan knew he didn’t feel any better about lying to Max than he did. Miles had shown them all his bee candy. It was a shame no one else would be seeing it today.

  “I’m going to call it… Bee Happy,” Miles said finally. “Like bee, with two e’s?”

  “Wonderful!” Max clapped. “And you, Logan?”

  “Mine needs some work, too,” Logan said truthfully. “I can get it to turn from chocolate into gum, but not so much on the back-again part.”

  Max nodded. “We knew that would be a challenge.”

  “I’m going to try adding more carrageen.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Mine’s all finished,” Daisy said proudly, as though it were still going to be in the contest. “It’s called the 3G’s! Short for the Green Glob of Goop.”

  “Interesting,” Max said uncertainly. “May we taste it?”

  “Sure!” Daisy ran over to the fridge and returned with a small tray. She peeled a glob for each of them off the wax paper. The cooling process hadn’t done anything for the candy’s appearance.

  They all took a bite at the same time.

  And precisely two seconds later, they all spit it out into their hands. Only Daisy kept chewing hers.

  “What?” she said when she saw everyone staring at her. “It’s good!”

  “No,” Philip said, “it’s not good. It’s the opposite of good. No offense.”

  “Did you mash and boil the flowers before mixing them in?” Max asked.

  Daisy shook her head. “Was I supposed to?”

  “Did you cut away the base of the flowers first, or did you use the whole thing?”

  “Um, the whole thing, I think.”

  Logan could tell Max didn’t relish the news he was about to give. “I think perhaps you should consider starting—”

  “I’m thirteen!” Daisy blurted out.

  The other kids gasped.

  “What do you mean?” Max asked.

  This time it was Philip’s turn to kick Daisy on one shin, while Miles did it on the other. Logan just sent her a pleading look. If Max knew her real age, he’d have to follow the rules and alert the Confectionary Association. Telling Max now would mean she’d have to stay behind. Logan needed her to be there. They all did.

  “Daisy?” Max prompted.

  “Um, I mean, I tried to make it thirteen times already, so, you know, I don’t know how much better I can do.”

  “Well,” Max said, “perhaps fourteen is the magic number, then.”

  Logan breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Now let’s all get to work,” Max continued. “Philip, you may want to take an iron to your suit… it’s quite rumpled. Almost looks like you slept in it!”

  “Our driver is bringing me a fresh one,” Philip explained, trying in vain to smooth down his creased pant legs.

  “Excellent,” Max said. “You want the judges to take you seriously, and looking professional helps.” Max glanced at Daisy and cleared his throat. “Will someone be bringing you a change of clothes, too?”

  Daisy’s jeans were streaked with dirt and chocolate. Her T-shirt hadn’t fared much better. “My cousin will be here soon. No worries.”

  “Good.” Max checked the clock over the large sink. “I have to go sort out the directions and make sure we have all the paperwork we’ll need. Meet out front at ten sharp, with your candy securely packed up. And don’t forget to write out the recipes. Make sure you list every ingredient you used, even if it’s just a pinch.” He beamed at them. “I’m so proud of all of you! This is going to be a day none of us will ever forget!”

  “That’s for sure,” Philip said under his breath.

  As soon as the lab door swung shut, Daisy held up her hand. “Before everyone yells at me for telling Max my age, or trying to anyway, let me just say it wasn’t my idea. AJ told me to do it when Max started questioning me.”

  At their confused looks she pointed to her ear. “He’s back. He says he’s my handler till the end.” She paused for a second, turning slightly away. “Of course I had to tell them! We’re all in this together.”

  Turning back to them, she said, “Sorry. AJ says hi.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Philip said.

  “Well, okay, he doesn’t. But don’t take it personally. Pretty much the first rule of spying is not to get attached to the people around you. He’d really like you guys if he knew you.” She gestured toward Philip with her head. “Well, maybe not you.”

  “Ha ha,” Philip said.

  Logan found he was actually glad that AJ would be nearby in case anything went wrong. “But why did he want you to disqualify yourself before we even got to the contest?”

  “Don’t be mad, he’s just trying to protect me. The whole get in, do the job, get out thing. In fact, he’s outside now with my clothes. I’ll be right back.” But instead of heading toward the front door of the lab, she ducked inside Max’s small office and closed the door.

  The boys exchanged puzzled glances. A minute later Daisy emerged wearing the same yellow dress she’d worn the first day they met her, except someone had sewn on pockets! She pulled at the collar and scowled. “AJ’s warped idea of a joke. Here’s your pie.” She thrust a white bakery box at Miles. “It’s peach cobbler.”

  Miles took the box. “But… how?”

  She gestured with her thumb toward the office. “Window.”

  Logan was pretty sure he didn’t want to know how AJ and Daisy knew that Max’s office had a window. Wait! That window didn’t actually open! When he pointed this out, she held up what looked like an ordinary silver pen.

  “Cuts through anything,” she explained, slipping it back into her dress pocket.

  “But…” He was about to explain about how the lab needed to be kept at exactly 71 degrees with 40 percent humidity, when Daisy said, “Don’t worry, the other end of the pen reseals it.”

  Logan must have looked doubtful, because Daisy said, “Not to change the subject or anything, but this is for you.” She held out a note.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Your mom gave it to me this morning while you were showering.”

  Once he heard it was from his mom, Logan knew it must be his daily special message. He felt a little strange opening it in front of them, but he knew they were curious. He cleared his throat and read: “ ‘List your blessings and you will walk through the gates of thanksgiving and into the fields of joy.’ ”

  He folded it back up and stuck it in his pocket. He didn’t need a note to remind him to be grateful, but maybe he needed a nudge to tell the others how he felt. “I just want you guys to know… whatever happens this afternoon, I’ll never forget what you’re doing for me. And for my family.”

  “Oh, it’s not for you,” Daisy assured him. “It’s for the candy!”


  They all laughed.

  “But seriously,” he said, “you’re all risking so much. When I counted my blessings last night, you guys were at the top.”

  “Me, too,” Miles said. “You know, if I’d actually counted them.”

  “Ditto,” Daisy said. “About you guys.”

  Philip just stared down at his shoes.

  “You okay?” Miles asked him, nudging him with his elbow. “This is where you make fun of us for talking about things like blessings and counting them.”

  Philip shook his head. “I don’t deserve blessings.”

  “What kind of thing is that to say?” Miles asked. “Of course you do. Look at all you’ve done in the last few days. Before you were all about winning, about being the best.”

  “I still am,” Philip said. “Nothing’s changed.”

  Logan shook his head. “Before you wanted to win for you. Now you want to win for me. That’s very different.”

  “Trust me,” Philip snapped. “If you had a better memory, you’d know I don’t deserve any thanks.”

  “What do you…” Logan stopped midsentence. He watched as Philip grabbed his briefcase from the floor and stormed out of the lab.

  “Where’s he going?” he asked the others.

  Daisy rested her hand on Logan’s arm. “Don’t worry about him,” she said. “He’s just nervous about today. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Yeah,” Miles said. “And I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but you’ve got like a half hour to make your Bubbletastic ChocoRocket turn from chocolate into gum and back again.”

  Logan groaned. “You’re right.”

  “Sure we can’t help?” Daisy asked. Then, with a sidelong glance at her 3G’s, she added, “Well, maybe just Miles could help.”

  He agreed to let them watch while he tweaked the recipe, but they weren’t allowed to speak. Once it was as ready as it was going to be, he rolled it into the shapes of small rockets.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said, biting into one end. It tasted pretty good. It even blew bubbles. But it stubbornly remained a gum.

  “Maybe it’s for the best.” Logan sighed, taking out the piece of gum and tossing it in the trash beneath his lab table. “We don’t want it to win anyway.”

  “You’ll make it work one day,” Miles promised.

  “It’s time,” Philip said. He’d exchanged his briefcase for a duffel bag, which probably held his old clothes. He was now dressed in a crisp black suit, a blue button-down shirt, and shiny black shoes. He’d combed his hair and no longer looked like he’d slept on the floor. Not much could be done about the purple shadows under his eyes. Logan figured they all had those.

  Philip peered down at Logan’s tray. “Those are pretty good rockets.”

  “They don’t work.”

  Philip shrugged. “They will.”

  Logan wanted to ask what Philip had meant about his memory being bad, but he didn’t want Philip to storm off again. So he hurried to pack up his candy and joined the others at the door.

  With a last glance behind him, he forced himself to swallow the familiar doubt that threatened to rise up inside him. He had to trust they’d done everything they could. He followed the others out of the lab and into what would surely be the biggest day of his life.

  The thing about leaving something behind for the very last time is that you rarely realize you’re doing it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The two-hour drive was quiet. After some small talk along the lines of how pretty the countryside was at this time of year, they fell into staring out the windows, lost in their own thoughts. Max tried to liven things up by suggesting they play car games, but when no one jumped at the chance, he let them be.

  Logan knew the others were nervous, too, but he bet he had them all beat. He couldn’t stop thinking about how upside-down everything had become. Was he seriously entering the contest—the one he’d dreamt about his whole life—with the hope of losing? Back at the factory, Philip’s plan had made sense. But now, only hours away from the moment he’d thought would make his parents see that he was worthy of carrying on the family business, everything was getting fuzzy. Maybe if he did win, they’d find some other way to save the factory?

  The rolling hills gave way to a small town, then a bigger one, and finally the city lay spread out before them. The convention was in the city center. The closer they got, the more Logan thought his nerves would get the best of him. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that last chocolate-chip pancake.

  A large truck ahead of them moved out of the way to reveal a two-story-high banner strung across the entrance of the huge convention center:

  WELCOME CANDY LOVERS TO THE

  CONFECTIONARY ASSOCIATION’S ANNUAL CONVENTION!!!

  WE’RE NUTS ABOUT SWEETS!!

  Max drove the van up to the front door, and they all piled out. Logan’s parents pulled up behind them. His mom climbed out first, followed by Henry, who had come to the convention every year Logan could remember. Henry gave a big stretch and then waved, his white hair even wilder than usual from the Candymaker’s habit of driving with all the windows down. Just seeing Henry made Logan instantly feel better. He’d missed him.

  One by one, Max pulled their boxes of candy out of the van’s refrigerated section. When he handed Miles the box labeled BEE HAPPY, he said, “My, those bees are heavy! How many are in there?”

  “Um, just one?” Miles said, somewhat truthfully. “A really big one!”

  Max laughed, having no idea that the box held one large peach cobbler.

  While Max and Logan’s father went to park, the rest of them gathered in front of the building. A steady stream of people flowed by them. Occasionally someone’s eyes would linger on Logan for a few seconds longer than was polite, but he only half-registered it. It felt good to be out under the sky, and he was enjoying the feel of the air blowing on his face. Even though it was city air, and the clouds were too scattered to form recognizable shapes, being outside was always better than being inside. Except at the factory. Then it was a tie.

  “Let’s go in, future candymakers of the world!” the Candymaker shouted.

  Logan shook off the dark thoughts of losing the contest and disappointing his parents. The Candymaker made it impossible not to be happy around him. They all laughed as they tried to trap each other in the revolving door.

  “How cool is this?” Daisy asked as they tumbled inside, nearly landing on top of one another. They quickly straightened up and looked around the huge, cavernous lobby. In the center of the room sat an enormous chocolate fountain. It must have been at least ten times the size of the one at Life Is Sweet. Big enough to dance in, if one were so inclined.

  “Try not to stick your hand in,” Logan told Philip.

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Philip replied.

  Logan pointed at Miles. “You either.”

  “Who, me? Never.”

  The registration desk filled the back half of the room. A long line of candymakers and candy distributors and candy-store owners joked and chatted while they waited to receive their badges. Logan recognized many of them, some of whom he only saw at this annual event.

  Next to the long desk an archway opened into the enormous exhibit hall. Hundreds of people crisscrossed the room, bags of free samples dangling from their wrists. The salespeople from Life Is Sweet had likely been there since dawn setting up their booth.

  The exhibit hall had always been his favorite part of the convention. He loved seeing the new innovations in the candy world, not to mention all the samples. He hoped they’d get a chance to wander through there. He’d love to show it to his friends.

  “That’s us!” Miles shouted. He pointed to a large sign that read:

  CONTESTANTS FOR THE CONFECTIONARY ASSOCIATION’S

  ANNUAL NEW CANDY CONTEST, THIS WAY

  A huge black arrow pointed up an escalator. So many multicolored helium balloons surrounded the sign that Logan wouldn’t have been surprise
d if it suddenly lifted off the ground.

  Max and Henry went off to get the badges for everyone, while Logan’s parents led them up to the contest floor. The walls of the upstairs room were covered with huge photographs of the previous winners, posing alongside their creations. Logan quickly found his dad and the Neon Yellow Lightning Chew, and then Grandpa and the Pepsicle. Seeing that picture of his grandfather, so young and full of hope, made Logan miss him. But it also felt as if his grandfather were here in the room, cheering him on, reminding him that the factory Samuel Sweet had built practically with his own hands was worth fighting for. The factory was bigger than any one person’s dreams of glory. Hoping that Philip’s candy beat his was the right choice, he knew that now for sure.

  He tore himself away from the posters and looked around the room. Twelve-year-olds were everywhere—huddled in groups, sitting in pairs on the folding chairs that were set out in long rows, or just walking around on their own, their faces full of anticipation. A few of the kids waved, and Logan waved back. He was not the only Candymaker’s son (or daughter) to turn twelve that year. He bet they all felt they had something to prove.

  It occurred to him for the first time how many kids would have to lose in order for the Harmonicandy to win. He felt a pang of sadness about that. He didn’t like having to root against anyone.

  They hadn’t gone too far into the room when the greetings began.

  “Richard Sweet, you old dog!”

  “Big Billy!” the Candymaker exclaimed, clasping the short, thin man’s hand. “Have you grown taller?”

  Billy patted his practically nonexistent belly. “Only out, my boy, only out!”

  The men guffawed as if that were the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

  “How much you got on the contest this year?” Logan’s dad asked.

  “Got a ten-spot on your boy,” Big Billy said with a wink.