The Candymakers

  “Ecstatic,” Philip said dryly.

  “Good!” Max thumped him on the back.

  Over the last few hours, the lab had been divided into four sections, each with its own lab table, burners, and equipment. The center of each table held a place card with the name of one of the four contestants. Logan saw only one sign of the earlier Fireball Supernova testing; Alvin, one of Max’s assistant confectionary scientists, held a bag of ice to his tongue and whimpered as he rinsed out a beaker in the sink.

  “Guess you need to turn the Supernovas down a notch?” Logan whispered to Max as they passed the unfortunate man.

  “What makes you say that?” Max asked innocently.

  The others couldn’t wipe the smiles off their faces as they found their stations. Logan wondered if Philip knew he looked like a totally different person when he smiled. Probably not. Unless he was in the habit of smiling at himself in the mirror, which Logan doubted.

  “Now,” Max began, walking among the stations. “What you see before you are the tools of a master confectionary scientist. You are welcome to add any other ingredients you like, as long as they’re on the approved list. Everything you need to take the contest judges by storm is this equipment, the raw ingredients in the right combination, and a huge helping of imagination.”

  “Oh, is that all,” Daisy said dryly.

  “Let’s take a few minutes to get familiar with our workstations. I’ll walk around and answer any questions you may have.”

  “I have a question,” Miles said, raising his hand. “What does this do?” He turned the knob on the Bunsen burner, and a thin purple flame shot a foot in the air. He leapt out of the way as Max ran over and switched it off. “Never mind!” Miles said, bowing his head.

  “Let’s all agree to ask questions first and act later, all right?” Max asked.

  Logan sent Miles a sympathetic glance. It was hard not to play with the burners. He and Henry often toasted marshmallows over them, mostly as an excuse to stare into the purple flame. Logan looked over his supplies: pans, candy and chocolate thermometers, a small scale, a blender, bowls, steel and wooden spoons, a marble slab, wax paper, a mixer, spatulas, and measuring cups and spoons.

  Max led them through some supposedly basic experiments, like heating sugar to different temperatures and making buttermilk and cream, which seemed easy for the others. It was fun watching the concoctions boil and bubble and sizzle. And colorful, too, when they started adding all-natural fruit flavors.

  Logan knew a lot would have to change in the next two days for his dream of winning to become a reality. He’d really need to work hard at it, perhaps harder than he’d worked on anything before. He’d have to quiet that voice in his head that told him he wasn’t smart enough. Could he really do that? Could he focus well enough? He doubted it.

  But if he could pull it off, if he could make the Bubbletastic ChocoRocket turn from chocolate to gum and back again, it would do more than take the contest judges by storm. It would make Life Is Sweet famous the world over.

  He wished he were back outside, staring up at the clouds and naming their shapes. That he was good at. Why couldn’t there be a contest for that?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Logan arrived at the Marshmallow Room the next morning, ten large pans of marshmallows were cooling on the counter. Henry had wasted no time whipping up a fresh batch. The others would be arriving at the factory in a few minutes, but Logan didn’t want another day to go by without his morning visit to Henry. He had so much to share.

  Henry whistled as he flipped over pans and peeled off wax paper with an ease and swiftness that came from decades of practice. Logan unwrapped the two sticks they had carefully handpicked in the woods near the factory a year ago. Henry divided up the marshmallows, and they took up their spots on either side of the largest burner, holding their sticks exactly two inches above the flame.

  Logan watched the flames arc gracefully toward the marshmallows, enjoying the ever-shifting shapes they made as they leapt. The marshy smell drifting from a fresh bundle of mallow plants in a box on the counter drew his attention.

  “I would have helped you harvest those,” he said. He enjoyed accompanying Henry into the swamp beside the pond.

  Henry kept his eyes on his marshmallow, always more careful not to let his burn. “We’ll go together next week,” he said, rotating his stick slightly. “Right now you have more important things to do.”

  Logan couldn’t help grinning. “Seriously, Henry, you should have seen it yesterday. After Max went over how to use the equipment, he gave us samples of the raw ingredients. Little containers of cane sugar and beet sugar and powdered sugar and flour and milk and all the nuts and different flavors of chocolate and egg whites—” Logan stopped to take a breath. “And food coloring and spices and cut-up fruit and all the sticky things like acacia gum and lecithin and carrageen, chicle and molasses and corn syrup and honey. And then Max got all serious and said something like ‘From these building blocks you can create something no one has seen before. I have faith in all of you.’ ”

  Henry lifted his marshmallow away from the flame and blew on it. “That sounds very profound indeed.”

  Logan nodded and pulled his marshmallow from the flame, too. “But what if he’s wrong? To have faith in me, I mean. After all, I’ve been trying—and failing—to make this work for years. Why would that change with only one day left before the contest?”

  Henry shrugged. “Things change when they’re ready to change. People change when they’re ready, too. You can never predict these things. You still haven’t told Max your idea, I gather?” Henry popped his perfectly toasted marshmallow into his mouth.

  Logan shook his head. “No one except you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Henry said, switching off the flame. “No one’s going to laugh at you.”

  Henry had an uncanny ability to read Logan’s mind. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “And if they do, well, they’ll just be jealous they didn’t think of it first.”

  Logan grinned. “That’s right!” He bit into the marshmallow and slid it off the stick. Then he placed the stick back in the cabinet for next time.

  “Good luck,” Henry said, placing his stick next to Logan’s. “By the way, how are you all getting along?”

  “Great,” Logan replied, surprised by the question. “Well, I guess Philip pretty much does his own thing. He’s not, um, very pleasant.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” Henry said, opening the door for Logan. “Perhaps he’s insecure in this new environment.”

  Logan nodded, although it seemed as if Philip had made himself right at home, bossing everyone around like he owned the place. He remembered the paper in his pocket and pulled it out: “ ‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.’ ”

  “See?” Henry said. “What did I tell you?”

  Logan grimaced. “I’ll try to be kind.” With a final wave, he ran the whole way to the front door, managing to get there before the others arrived. He walked outside and took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Along with the air came sweet scents from the field—peppermint and clover, apples and peaches, and a decidedly earthy smell from the barn.

  He sat on top of the old-fashioned milk jug to wait. Before his grandfather started keeping cows, milk for the chocolate had been delivered from the local dairy. For the last forty years, the large tin jug had stood empty by the side of the door. It always reminded Logan of his grandfather, and he suspected that’s why his dad had never gotten rid of it.

  For a brief second he worried that the others had changed their minds and dropped out of the competition. For an even briefer second he realized that in that case, he’d have a better chance of winning. He banished both of those thoughts from his head, and a minute later a small blue car pulled up. Miles hopped out, his big backpack over his shoulder again. Logan jumped up from the milk jug to greet him.

  “This is my dad,” Miles said, p
ointing to the man behind the wheel.

  Logan ducked his head inside the window to introduce himself. Miles’s dad had black hair streaked with gray and looked about ten years older than the Candymaker. Although his smile was nothing but friendly, Logan could see a weariness in his face, as if he hadn’t gotten enough sleep in a long time.

  “Thank you for being such a wonderful host,” Miles’s dad said. “Miles couldn’t stop talking about the place yesterday.”

  “Dad!” Miles protested, the tips of his ears turning red.

  Logan laughed. “It’s been fun for me, too.”

  “Well, you two stay out of trouble, and, Miles, try to eat something other than chocolate for lunch today.”

  “Dad! I told you we ate apples, too!”

  They sat down on the stoop to wait for the others. They laughed for a solid minute about Philip getting powdered sugar all over himself in the lab the day before, then debated whether Gummysaurus Rex would win in a battle against Gummzilla. Both presented valid arguments, and then the sound of hooves clomping on the driveway drew their attention away.

  Their mouths fell open as Daisy approached, not in a car, but on a large black horse. Instead of the yellow sundress, she was wearing jeans and a purple T-shirt with orange flowers on it. When she saw the two of them watching, she pulled on the reins and the horse slowed down.

  “Um, is this how she arrived yesterday, too?” Logan asked in a low voice.

  “She was here before me,” Miles whispered. The horse let out a snort and shook its mane as Daisy made clucking sounds at it.

  Daisy came to a halt right in front of them. The horse swished his tail a few times and grunted. Logan crinkled his nose. Miles pinched his closed.

  “Oops,” Daisy said, looking behind the horse at the steaming pile on the driveway. “I’ll clean that right up.” She swung down in one fluid movement and pulled a brown paper bag from the bundle tied to the saddle. With a pat on the horse’s flank, she bent down to sweep the droppings into the bag. Logan noticed that her socks didn’t match again, but at least neither of them was pink.

  “Sorry about the unusual transportation,” she said, straightening. “My parents couldn’t drive me this morning, so I had to take the horse. She’s old but reliable. She used to work on my aunt and uncle’s farm. You know, pulling carts of hay and stuff.”

  Miles jumped back a bit as the large beast swung its head in his direction.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of her,” Daisy said. “She’s harmless.” She rubbed her flank again and turned back to Logan. “My dad will come later to pick her up. Where should I leave her?”

  “You could put her in the barn by the cow pasture,” Logan offered. “There’s plenty of hay and water and people to watch her.”

  “Sounds perfect,” she said, picking up the reins. “I’ll meet you guys inside.”

  “Don’t you want me to show you where it is?”

  Daisy shook her head. “I saw it yesterday at lunch.”

  “Wait,” Logan said as she turned to go. “You should bring your dad in when he comes. I’m sure my parents would love to meet him.”

  She quickly shook her head. “He isn’t really the social type. You know how musicians are.”

  Logan didn’t, having never met a real musician. “Oh, okay. Well, see you inside.” They watched her lead the horse around the side of the factory. “I’ve never seen a real horse before,” Logan admitted to Miles as they sat down again to wait for Philip.

  “Me neither. Bigger than I thought they’d be.”

  Logan nodded in agreement. “I wonder where her aunt and uncle’s farm is.”

  Miles shook his head. “I didn’t think there were any farms around here. I mean, except for yours.”

  “I didn’t think so either. But then again, I don’t get out too much.”

  Miles looked as if he were about to say something, but he changed his mind and picked quietly at a loose thread on his shorts. Logan wondered if he had said something wrong.

  “Do you think we should go in?” Miles finally asked. “Maybe Philip’s not coming today.”

  Logan checked his watch and nodded. He had planned on taking Henry’s advice and being extra friendly to Philip. He couldn’t do that if Philip didn’t show up, though. “I guess he knows the way.”

  To their surprise, Philip was already in the lab when they arrived. He wore the same suit, but no tie this time. Logan opened his mouth to say hi, but Philip had already turned away. Oh well, he’d tried.

  They took an inventory of their supplies, as Max had instructed the day before. Daisy arrived a few minutes later. A strong odor of peppermint wafted from her. She must have walked through the peppermint plants on her way from the barn. Logan was about to ask her more about the horse when Max clapped his hands. “All right, future candymakers. Let’s begin!”

  He passed around the box of rubber gloves, and they each pulled out two and fitted them on. Then they followed him up to the long lab table at the front of the room, where he’d set up a small enrobing machine, a rotating drum for panning, and a tempering machine.

  Next to the equipment sat a metal tray of Oozing Crunchoramas (lined up in perfect rows of ten) and a bowl of High-Jumping Jelly Beans. But not the finished products—only the centers, which Miles, Daisy, and Philip examined with interest. No one outside the factory had ever seen these.

  “We’re going to start with panning,” Max said. “This machine is used to give a candy its hard shell. You can pan with a sugar mixture or chocolate. For demonstration purposes today, we’re going to coat jelly beans. Everyone stand back.”

  Dutifully, they did as they were told. Max tossed a bowl of the jelly beans inside the metal drum and flicked the switch. The urn started rotating slowly at first, then picking up speed. The jelly beans tumbled around like clothes in a dryer, flinging themselves against the sides, top, and bottom. Max handed Philip a cupful of bright red liquid and, talking loudly over the sound of the beans bouncing hard off the metal, instructed him to fling it into the urn.

  Without hesitating, Philip flung. Unfortunately, he forgot to hold on to the measuring cup. It flew out of his hand, banged against the side of the urn, and clattered to the floor. They all instinctively stepped back as the red liquid shot through the air.

  “And that’s why we use plastic measuring equipment,” Max said, reaching for the cup, which had rolled to a stop against his foot. He switched off the panning machine, and the beans fell into a pile on the bottom.

  “Sorry,” Philip mumbled, slipping the paper-towel roll off the dispenser on the wall. He seemed not to know what to do with it, though, so it hung limply from his hand.

  Miles leaned over and ripped a piece from the roll. He took off his glasses and wiped the red splatters off the lenses. Then he handed Philip back the soiled towel.

  Philip just stood there, holding it and waiting for instructions.

  “Here, let me take that,” Max said, lifting the paper towels from his hands. “Don’t worry, that’s why they call them accidents.”

  “Accidents?” Philip repeated, sounding unfamiliar with the word. As if he’d never made a mistake before. Logan wondered if maybe he hadn’t.

  Max poured more of the red liquid into a new measuring cup. “We need to remember to focus on what we’re doing at all times. These machines can be pretty powerful. And these are only the traveling versions of the full-sized ones in the other rooms. Try again.” He handed the cup to Philip and switched the machine back on.

  This time Philip hesitated for a few seconds before tossing the liquid (and only the liquid) into the urn. It sloshed all over the beans and coated them as the urn rotated.

  Max gave them each a cupful to throw in, and within a few minutes, a thick coating had built up on the beans. To finish it off, Max tossed in a quarter cup of melted beeswax, which gave the beans their shine. As they glinted under the bright laboratory lights, Max switched off the machine and grabbed a handful. He held out his palm, and
they each took one.

  Philip deposited his directly in his lab-coat pocket. Miles and Daisy threw theirs on the floor, obviously familiar with why they were called High-Jumping Jelly Beans. Both beans bounced up high over their heads. They reached out expertly to catch them before popping them into their mouths.

  Philip looked pained. “You both ate food off the floor, are you aware of that?”

  They laughed. “That’s how you’re supposed to eat these,” Daisy explained. “Haven’t you ever had one before? Wait, of course you haven’t.”

  Philip smoothed out his lab coat. “I’m not in the habit of eating where people walk. Who knows where your shoes have been?”

  Daisy fumed.

  “Moving right along,” Max said, stepping down the line to the enrobing machine. “This little beauty is one of my favorites.” He placed the tray of bare Oozing Crunchoramas on the conveyor belt of the enrober, then flipped open the lid on top of the machine. He handed Daisy a funnel and a jug full of the chocolate that had been simmering in a copper pot on the back of the stove. She still looked as if smoke could come out of her ears.

  Max turned the switch to the ON position. The conveyor belt began to move.

  “Now?” Daisy asked.

  “Good a time as any.”

  She tilted the funnel over the opening on the top of the enrober. A thin curtain of chocolate flowed down as the belt began moving the Crunchoramas along. The result? Each row of Crunchoramas emerged from the chocolate waterfall draped with a shiny coating of deep brown chocolate. A quick burst of air whooshed out from a small tube to create perfect ripples on top of each piece.

  Logan loved those ripples. He could watch the silky stream of chocolate cascade down all day, and sometimes he did. But no time for daydreaming today. Max was already herding them toward the tempering machine. Daisy, transfixed, had to be dragged away from the enrober by Max.

  “In the old days,” he began, “we would temper the chocolate by hand, carefully heating and cooling it until the crystals inside the chocolate molecules reached the perfect level of stability. Now, in the interest of saving time, we use this handy tempering machine.” He patted the contraption lovingly.