The Candymakers and the Great Chocolate Chase Read online

  Miles giggled at the mistake. “Sorry! Will try harder. Here’s the thing, you know how me and my parents are Chinese?”

  Yup.

  “Well, my dad’s parents aren’t. They were Irish. From Ireland.”

  After a short pause, she replied, Okay.

  “So, we haven’t done genetics in school yet. Is that even possible?”

  After another, longer pause, she answered, No. Was your dad adopted?

  Miles leaned back, nearly slipping off the milk can. He sat up again. His dad was adopted! Of course that was it! He must have known deep down. But his dad had never mentioned anything like that. Miles mouthed, “I guess he must be! But why wouldn’t he talk about it?”

  You sometimes don’t talk about things. Maybe you get that from him.

  Her words surprised him. “Me? I’m an open book. Just ask Philip—he wanted to punch me every time I talked about the afterlife.”

  Yeah, but that was more about losing his mother than really being annoyed at you.

  Miles realized she was right. Insights like that were the reason he was calling her and not someone else.

  Daisy’s words started coming again. You talked about the afterlife, but you never really talked about what you saw at the lake, or about hiding in your room and always being scared something was going to happen to someone you cared about and all that stuff that you told us later, when you were ready. Maybe it’s like that with your dad. It’s too hard for him to talk about. Is he close with his parents?

  “They are in the afterlife now. You and I used to go visit them. You liked the red swing the best.”

  That’s sweet.

  “I never knew them, but yes, he was very close with them and loved them a lot.”

  I think you have your answer. He doesn’t want to hurt them by implying they weren’t his real parents. Even though they aren’t alive anymore.

  Miles thought about that lip quiver every time the conversation could have turned toward the adoption. Obviously the topic upset him. And upsetting his dad was the last thing he’d want to do. Daisy was totally right.

  “Thank you!” he mouthed.

  You’re welcome. Really gotta go now. Got a bit of a thing happening here.

  “Anything I can help with?” Miles mouthed.

  You wouldn’t happen to know how to get honey out of hair, would you? Max never taught us that in our candymaking classes!

  “I actually do know a thing or two.” He recited the sentence about honey he’d copied earlier, feeling the sticky spot on his chin. Nope, the honey hadn’t cured him yet. The pimple was still there.

  More text appeared on his screen. Helps burns? Wonder if it would help Logan with his scars.

  As soon as he read Daisy’s comment, Miles immediately knew why he’d picked that line out of the book on natural remedies. He was supposed to help heal Logan’s scars! His mind began to race. Maybe part of why he missed thinking about the-girl-who-drowned wasn’t only because he missed the creativity of making his map. Maybe he missed helping someone. Each day he had thought of a way to make the girl’s afterlife better. He could channel that into helping a real person now. And if that person just happened to be his best friend, then all the better!

  Miles, I really gotta go. I need to figure out a believable story for AJ to get me out of something.

  Miles snapped his attention back to the screen. “How about Bo Dinkleman, the cowboy who pulls tractors with his teeth, could pretend you’re needed back on the ranch for corn-shucking season.”

  That’s actually a great idea! Just for that I’m going to give you a treat. Hang on. I’m taking a picture for you.

  A few seconds later a photo of Daisy filled Miles’s screen. What was on her face? He pulled the book closer to him and then burst out laughing. Her cheeks had bright orange dots sprinkled all over them, like the worst fake freckles he’d ever seen. But the funniest part had to be the pieces of hair clumped together with honey. Oh, and the honey had small white feathers stuck to it. He couldn’t imagine how she’d wound up in that situation.

  “That must be a really funny book!” Logan’s voice said from very close by.

  “Gnipael sdrazil!” Miles cried out, launching the book in one direction and his body in another. This turned out to be a very bad idea.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Miles was about to tell Daisy that he had honey on his face as well (what were the odds?), but Logan surprised him, and everything happened fast after that. He felt bad about snatching his book before Logan could retrieve it for him, but he didn’t want Logan to know he had talked to Daisy. He was just glad that they’d been mouthing the conversation, so Logan hadn’t heard them talk about the scars. That would have been awful.

  It meant more to him than he knew how to express that Logan gave him the box with Samuel Sweet’s old papers. He’d never had a friend who understood how much he’d love something like that. He’d wanted to jump up and hug him, but there were a lot of strangers around and he didn’t want to embarrass Logan.

  As Miles carried the box toward the library, he could barely believe his good fortune. Sure, his mom was bound to ask later why he was covered in Band-Aids (and he was pretty sure he still had a few thorns in an area he wasn’t about to ask the nurse to check!). And yes, his disappearing-ink bottle had exploded, soaking not only his shorts but the list of random thoughts from his books. As irksome as those events were, it was impossible to be bothered by anything when presented by his best friend with a box full of old journals and maps!!!

  Barely able to see over the top of the box, Miles pushed the library door open and stumbled in. Mrs. Gepheart, the factory’s long-time librarian, popped up from behind the desk.

  “Watch out for the—” she started to shout.

  “Oopf!” Miles ran straight into the table that had definitely not been there the last time he visited the library. He realized too late that she was trying to warn him about the display she’d been working on for all the visitors. He and the table collided. His glasses flew off his face, and the box dropped to the floor, taking Miles and half the items on the table with it.

  Well! That was certainly embarrassing. “So sorry!” Miles said, sticking his (fortunately unbroken) glasses back on his face. He scrambled to pick up the fallen items—a framed dollar bill signed by Samuel Sweet; an old Pepsicle carton from the days when a whole box cost only a dime; a handful of black-and-white photographs, including some that showed a row of people Miles didn’t recognize standing on the factory’s front steps; and a certificate awarding Life Is Sweet the official trademark for the name of the company. The sign, now knocked sideways on the table, read A VERY SHORT AND SWEET HISTORY OF Life Is Sweet.

  “That was some entrance!” Mrs. Gepheart said, doing her best to rearrange the samples of each candy, now lumped together in random piles. They had been carefully lined up in the order of when they were released, a project that had taken longer to put together than one might think. Max and Henry had argued for nearly two hours over whether the Leapin’ Lollies should go before the Snorting Wingbats. Apparently they had hit the stores on the exact same day, fifteen years ago. Max had thought the order should be determined by which had been invented first (Leapin’ Lollies). Henry thought it should be the candy that came off the conveyor belt first (Snorting Wingbats). They finally agreed to let the sales record speak for itself. In a close tiebreaker, the first candy store to log in sales for that day—The Candy Basket—reported that a pack of Snorting Wingbats had sold one minute and twenty-three seconds before the first Leapin’ Lolly. The winner had been crowned and the correct order set.

  Miles stood back to get a good look. “That one goes here,” he said, replacing the High-Jumping Jelly Beans with the Sour Fingers. “And the Magic Bar should be here,” he announced, gently picking up the rarest item on the table and moving it between the Pepsicle and the Some More S’mores. The bar, wrapped tightly in blue foil, felt both solid and airy beneath his fingers, but of course by this time it