The Candymakers Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gummzilla is by far superior,” Miles insisted, shading his eyes from the bright morning sun. “His tail alone could toss Gummysaurus Rex to the next city block!”

  Logan shook his head. “So wrong. Gummysaurus Rex could trample Gummzilla with one foreleg!”

  Miles had been very happy to see Logan waiting for him when he arrived for Day Two. Still, he had to insist that Gummzilla would tower over Gummysaurus Rex. He started to tell Logan this, but an odd clip-clopping sound made him stop. It almost sounded like a horse.

  A giant black horse, in fact. A giant black horse with Daisy on its back. His thoughts raced back to the day at the lake. After he and his parents reported the incident, the whole area had been roped off and everyone asked to leave. The merry-go-round had gone around and around with its empty horses. Merry-go-rounds and their ghost riders gave him the chills.

  Any dark thoughts vanished, though, as soon as they were inside and Miles saw the candymaking machines set up in the center of the lab. He rushed over to peer at the insides of the High-Jumping Jelly Beans. The insides! He never could have dreamt of seeing such a thing. Sure, he was used to seeing inside when he bit into one, but this was entirely different. Now he could see the outsides of the insides. And who ever got to see that?

  When he got his turn to fling the glaze into the urn of rotating beans, he held on really tight, not wanting to make the same mistake Philip had. The liquid streamed out in a long arc, spraying and coating the jelly bean insides as they banged around in the rotating urn. He felt like a real scientist.

  When the chocolate in the enrober began cascading onto the Oozing Crunchoramas, Miles literally had to lock his hands behind his back. The urge to feel the chocolate running over his open palm was nearly overwhelming.

  “Do any of you know what you want to make yet?” Max asked.

  Philip was the only one to respond. He sounded so confident and so protective of his recipe that Miles began to doubt anyone would be able to beat him. Not that he’d ever tell him that.

  When Max shooed them out of the room to go do research, Miles had only one place to go. He wanted to tell Logan about his project, especially after Logan shared his amazing idea for the Bubbletastic ChocoRocket, but he felt weird about it. He didn’t really know enough yet.

  “Hey, you’re the little dude who fainted,” Paulo said when Miles walked into the Bee Room ten minutes later, fully decked out in his protective gear.

  “I didn’t faint,” Miles said, eyeing a bee buzzing dangerously close to his nose. “I fell. It’s different.”

  Paulo wiped his hands with a wet rag, wrung it out, and laid it over a nearby post. “If you say so. So what brings you back? There isn’t a problem with the honey again, is there?”

  Miles shook his head. “Actually I just came to ask you a few questions. About honey.”

  “Then I’m the guy you want.” He gestured Miles over to a bench away from most of the activity. They sat, the bees buzzing in the background adding a sort of musical undertone.

  “Basically,” Miles explained, “I want to make some sort of honey-based candy. But with a soft consistency, not like a hard candy that could hurt your teeth. Oh, and I’d like it to look like a bee.”

  “A bee?” Paulo repeated.

  Miles nodded.

  Paulo rested his chin on his hands and said, “Interesting, very interesting. Well, I can help you with the honey part. Making it look like a bee is up to you.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Paulo explained how bees made both honey and wax, how you could distinguish between different types of honey, which were best for baking, and how long and laborious a task it was for the bees to make it in the first place. By the end of the lesson, Miles had begun to second-guess his plans. He worried that it wouldn’t be fair to make a honey-based candy when it would take so many bees to do it.

  “Let me guess,” Paulo said, leaning back on the bench. “You’re feeling guilty.”

  Miles looked up, surprised. “How’d you know?”

  “I saw that same expression on Logan’s face when he was four years old. He saw how the process worked and asked if taking the bees’ honey was like stealing. I explained that making honey is what bees do. It’s their purpose. They make it to eat themselves, but they make much, much more than they need. Since then Logan’s made it his duty to make sure the bees know they’re appreciated for their hard work.” Paulo shook his head. “Great kid, great kid.”

  “Wait,” Miles said, “you were here that long ago?”

  Paulo nodded. “I’ve been here since I was fifteen. The Candymaker hires teenagers during the summer and sort of grooms us to work here when we get out of school.”

  Miles saw his opportunity and took it. “So you were here when Logan, um, when whatever happened to Logan… happened?”

  Paulo let out a long breath. “Indeed I was, little dude, indeed I was.”

  “Can you, um, tell me about it?” Miles held his breath.

  “Logan didn’t tell you?” Paolo said, not really sounding surprised.

  Miles shook his head.

  Paulo put his chin in his hands again. “Well, I figure it’s Logan’s tale to tell, if he wants to. I will tell you it was pretty bad. A lot changed around here after that. If Logan hadn’t been such a good kid, had such a big heart, it wouldn’t have happened, you know?”

  Miles shook his head.

  Paulo smiled sadly and stood up. “That’s the best I can do. I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll tell you.”

  But Miles didn’t think he could. He thanked Paulo for his help and promised to bring him a sample of the bee candy if he figured out how to make it.

  His next stop was the Taffy Room, where he expected to run into Daisy. Most of the taffy makers must have gone to lunch, because Fran was the only one there. Miles watched from the door as she lifted a soft roll of orange-and-white-striped taffy onto the hook and started working at it so intently that he felt bad barging in. He purposely made a lot of noise by bumping and kicking the door so she wouldn’t be startled. She looked up and seemed genuinely glad to see him.

  “Miles!” she exclaimed. “Back for some more grape taffy?” Without waiting for an answer, she reached over to a heaping barrel and tossed him handfuls of the individually wrapped pieces. He laughed as he tried to catch them all.

  Stuffing them into his pockets, he said, “Actually, I’d really like some of the yellow ones for my project. I mean, if that’s okay.”

  She beamed. “Wonderful! I hoped someone would use taffy in their entry. C’mon!” She led him across the room to where a foot-long glob of yellow taffy sat cooling on a marble slab. “Would this be enough?”

  “Even half of that would be great.”

  She took a very sharp knife, cut it neatly in half, wrapped the chunk in wax paper, and presented it to him like a gift. Miles clutched the warm package to his chest.

  As they walked back to the door, something Fran had said came back to him. “Fran, you said you hoped one of us would use taffy in our project. Didn’t Daisy come to see you?”

  Fran shook her head. “Nope. And that girl has potential. Good arm strength, very important.”

  Miles crinkled his brows. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. But if you see her, tell her to stop by.”

  “Okay,” Miles promised. “Thanks for everything.” He headed back to the lab, wondering why Daisy had changed her mind about the taffy. He had to go right past the Some More S’mores Room, so he poked his head in to see if Daisy had gone there. The intoxicating aromas of chocolate and graham crackers and marshmallows overwhelmed him (but in a good way), and he had to hold on to the door.

  “Has anyone seen Daisy?” he asked, trying not to salivate as the S’mores came down the conveyor belt not two feet away from him.

  One of the S’more makers, a roly-poly guy who looked enough like a younger version of the Candymaker to be his brother, looked up from pouring a tray of marshmallows o