The Candymakers Read online

  He barely noticed when Logan and Miles left. He was still getting down the last few notes when Max said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you’re always so intent on writing in that notebook of yours? Are you a budding young author, perhaps? Daisy loves to read, maybe the two of you could work on a story together one day.”

  “I do,” Philip replied, not looking up.

  “Sorry?” said Max.

  “I do,” Philip repeated, “mind you asking.”

  “Oh.” Max chuckled. “I see. Well, I’ll let you keep at it then.”

  But he had finished for now. “Can we go make some candy? The contest is in two days.”

  Max swallowed his last bite. “Go get Daisy, and we’ll find the other boys.”

  He let Max take his tray for him, and headed over to Daisy. He hoped the grass wouldn’t leave stains on the bottoms of his pant legs.

  She was leaning against the tree trunk, her eyes closed. He watched her for a few seconds, wondering what she was thinking about. Probably girl stuff, like hair and makeup and boys. He’d heard girls in school whisper about which boys they thought were cute. Once or twice he’d heard his name mentioned, and he had to admit, it was a lot better than most things people whispered about him.

  He wanted to tell her she looked pretty, with those wisps of blond hair flying free from her ponytail. Instead, he said, “Thinking about how you’re going to lose on Saturday?”

  She snapped at him, then stomped off with Max to find Logan and Miles.

  Philip trailed behind. As much as he didn’t enjoy being out in nature, he enjoyed being around Logan even less. He arrived at the row of low bushes to find everyone peering at something white dangling from a leaf. He bent for a closer look and then pulled back. It looked like something from a horror movie, like a mummy. Like something trapped. It gave him the creeps. He wanted to be far away from it.

  The lab was a welcome change, with its temperature-controlled environment and stations for each of them to work at. It was a relief to have some breathing room from the others.

  Since he already knew what candy he was going to make, Philip paid attention only when Max discussed things that could actually be of use to him. While the others were entertaining themselves by making things fizz and smoke (or, in Logan’s case, boiling things till they overflowed), he was laying out the ingredients he’d need and experimenting with adding just the right amount of mint oil to just the right amount of cocoa powder. He knew they weren’t supposed to be working on their projects until the next day, but he didn’t win all the time by following other people’s schedules.

  At the exact moment that the container of powdered sugar flew up in his face, he was thinking about how easy it was going to be to win this competition. As the sugar floated down on his head and shoulders, a piece or two landed on his lips. He quickly licked them clean, surprised by the brief sweetness.

  He knew the others were laughing at him, but he figured he’d let them have their fun. After all, their fun would end on Saturday in total humiliation. He threatened to send Max the dry-cleaning bill and stormed out.

  The halls were quiet for a change. That morning they had been filled with a steady stream of workers pushing carts loaded with trays of candy in various stages. He supposed the machines were up and running full force at this time of day. He brushed the powdered sugar from his arms, but succeeded only in smearing it more.

  A young guy carrying a bucket of strawberries turned the corner. He took one look at Philip and burst out laughing. “Guess you’re looking for a bathroom?”

  Philip nodded grimly.

  The man shifted his bucket under one arm and pointed to a door down the hall. “There’s a sink right in that storage room. If it’s locked, the regular bathroom is back that way, next to the Taffy Room.”

  Philip shuddered. He didn’t plan to go near the Taffy Room again. “Thanks,” he muttered.

  The guy chuckled and headed off, whistling.

  Philip hurried over to the storage room, hoping to find it unlocked. He hadn’t noticed the room before, and he knew they’d been in this corridor before. All the other doors at the factory were the kind that swung open. This one had a regular knob and blended into the white walls.

  He put his hand on the knob and was relieved when it turned easily. He opened the door and felt around for a light switch. All he could feel was rough, unpainted wood. His fingertips were so toughened from years of pressing on violin strings, though, that he didn’t fear any splinters. He had to open the door wider to let in more light from the hall, and that’s when he saw the string hanging from the ceiling. As he stepped toward it, something squeaked under his foot. He bent down and retrieved a small yellow duck wearing a sailor’s hat. He stashed it in his jacket pocket. The factory had finally given him his duck.

  It took two tries, but finally a dim lightbulb crackled on. He shut the door and looked around. All the stuff he remembered from the factory’s annual picnics waited in the small room, piled high in boxes and barrels or just bound together with twine. His eyes landed on a stack of instrument cases in one corner, and he made his way over to them.

  The black violin case on top of the pile had a good half inch of dust on it. He almost blew it off but realized the dust would just fly up in his face. He reached around the side for the latch, and the case popped right open. For a minute, all Philip could do was stare down at the most beautiful violin he had ever seen. Then, with shaking fingers, he gently lifted it out.

  The shimmering pine of the belly. The deep, dark ebony of the chin rest and tuning pegs. The golden scroll at the top carved into the shape of a lion’s head. The craftsmanship was far superior not only to anything he’d ever played but to anything he’d seen outside a museum.

  He held it up to the dim bulb to read the inscription on the back. Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis Faciebat Anno 1727. He almost dropped it. His heart rate doubled. He was holding a Stradivarius. One of only four hundred thought to exist in the world. The D string was missing entirely, and the others were loose and a little frayed, but it wouldn’t take much effort to fix that.

  The pegs turned smoothly, and he quickly tightened the three remaining strings. A tuning fork would have helped him make sure that they were perfectly adjusted, but he usually relied on his ears for that anyway.

  He checked the case and found a cloth, an empty tin of rosin, and a pair of earplugs. But no bow. He quickly wiped down the strings, then plucked the E string with his fingers and held his breath for the fraction of a second it took the instrument to respond.

  Like a single raindrop falling on a tin roof. A perfect note. He plucked G. And then A. Both flawless. Every ounce of him wished he could stay there and experiment with what the violin could do. And, of course, he hated that he wanted to.

  Hearing a voice outside the door made the decision for him. The violin went back into its case, and the case back on the pile. He had one hand on the lightbulb string when he realized he hadn’t done what he came to do. The workers on this hallway must use this sink pretty regularly, he thought, because the paper-towel roll and soap dispenser looked quite new. He dampened a few pieces of paper towel and ran them over his arms, chest, shoulders, even his hair. A quick look in the mirror assured him he’d gotten everything.

  He pulled the string and was halfway out the door when he realized that the voice he’d heard had been Daisy’s. He hoped she hadn’t heard him tuning the violin. She was standing a few yards away from the lab, leaning her right hip against the wall. He couldn’t catch her words, but she was definitely still talking. He wondered who was on the other end of the phone. One of her parents? Her friend Magpie that she always talked about?

  A boyfriend?

  But when he got closer, he realized she had no phone. She was talking to herself. He thought he’d seen her doing that before, but each time he listened more closely, she had stopped. This time it wasn’t his imagination.

  He snuck up behind her so close that he could s