The Candymakers Read online

  Max held up the harmonica. “Interesting. You didn’t happen to make a mold already, did you?”

  Philip shook his head. He didn’t want to admit that this was a new idea.

  “No? Well, that’s okay, you’ll figure something out without one.”

  “But how will I keep it in the right shape?”

  “You’re going to have to form them by hand,” Max said. “It would take too long to make a mold now.”

  Philip heard noises in the station next to him and caught a glimpse of a blond ponytail. “Can we talk about this later?” Philip asked, anxious that Daisy not overhear anything.

  Max nodded. In a low voice he said, “But you should know, candymaking is a very collaborative process. If you win the contest and enter the candy business, you’ll have to learn to get along with others.”

  Without waiting for a response, Max headed toward the back of the room.

  Philip hadn’t actually considered what would happen after he won. In the beginning it was just about making Logan lose, and now it was about saving the factory. But he hadn’t thought about the rest of it, and there wasn’t any time to think about it now.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Philip barely paused to breathe. Every hour on the hour, he excused himself and ran to the Cocoa Room, hoping to find it empty. He’d learned from years of watching his father’s different businesses that the workers’ break time usually fell at the top of the hour. But every time he went, either Lenny or Steve or both or random assorted others were in there. He lingered in the hall, pretending to read the plaques or admire the statue, but they refused to leave. Once or twice he saw Daisy walk by on her way somewhere, and he wondered briefly what her project was. For a split second, he thought of confiding in her. He couldn’t talk to Logan, of course, and Miles was too much of an unknown quantity and too close to Logan anyway. But as a girl, Daisy was sort of an outsider, too. Maybe she’d help him.

  But as soon as she caught his eye he chickened out and turned away.

  The most annoying part of the afternoon was getting candy all over himself, his workspace, the pages of his notebook. Once he was forced to lick a dot of chocolate off one of the pages. It had fallen right in the middle of a staff, and he didn’t want to come across it later and think it was a whole note and play it! If the taste of the paper hadn’t come with it, he might have actually enjoyed it.

  He abandoned his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, but he was still covered with sticky, gooey candy ingredients. Every time he tried to shape the chocolate into an even slightly recognizable shape, it just collapsed. Everywhere.

  Working with the marshmallow was proving hopeless. Way too sticky to take in and out of the little pipes. Caramel was even worse. Paulo’s beeswax helped, but he struggled with getting the cookie wafers to bend in the right way. Maybe if he had a week, he could do this.

  At one point, when he knew the noise of one of the machines would drown out everything else, he put his sorry excuse for a candy harmonica to his lips and blew. Air whooshed through it, but it made no musical note. He’d taken the plastic harmonica apart earlier, and now he picked up one of the halves and examined it more closely. Somehow he’d have to make the tiny flaps that allowed the instrument to make the different notes. How was he going to make tiny flaps out of candy?

  He rested his head in his hands. This served only to get caramel all over his face, but it gave him a reason to go back to the storeroom. The violin was just where he had left it. He washed up thoroughly, but as he lifted the bow, his sleeve slipped down and revealed the time on his watch: 4:45. Fifteen minutes till closing. His candy harmonica was nowhere near ready. He hadn’t foiled his father’s plans to steal the secret ingredient. How would he accomplish both these things in the next fifteen minutes?

  The answer came swiftly. He couldn’t accomplish them, plain and simple. He dug his phone out of the pocket where he’d stashed it earlier and hoped he’d get reception inside the tiny room.

  Reggie picked up right away. “I’m almost there.”

  “Don’t bother,” Philip said hurriedly. “I’m going to have to hang out here until I can get into the room with the secret ingredient. I don’t think my father’s guy has been able to get in there either. It’s been busy all day.”

  “Won’t they kick you out?”

  “Not if they don’t see me.”

  Reggie groaned. “Can’t you just forget about this one, come home and polish your trophies?”

  Philip had to laugh. “You know I can’t stop something once I’ve started it.”

  “Be careful,” Reggie warned. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  “Okay,” Philip promised, hanging up.

  Back in the lab, Philip placed all his prototypes in a small plastic container, separating each layer with wax paper. He secured the lid, then put the container in his briefcase. He made up other small containers with various ingredients and added them to the briefcase, too. He’d stay up all night in the kitchen if he had to.

  After Max gave them their instructions for the next day, Philip raced from the room. He made it to the storeroom before anyone else left the lab. He turned the lock on the inside of the door and sat against the far wall, between a wicker basket of beach balls and a pile of potato sacks. He didn’t dare turn on the light.

  He heard footsteps only a moment later, and the sounds of the other three talking. When the voices passed, he finally allowed himself to relax and close his eyes.

  The next thing he knew, he awoke curled up on the potato sacks. He bolted upright. He’d fallen asleep! What time was it? He pulled the light switch and was relieved to see that only an hour had passed.

  The thought occurred to him that he could easily slip into the lab and ruin the projects the others were working on. He could “misplace” their lists of ingredients. The candies could have an unfortunate accident with a Bunsen burner or the drain in the sink. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d sabotaged a competitor’s project. The end would justify the means, right? Andrew had underlined that concept in the notebook he’d passed along.

  But he knew he couldn’t do it. Even if he would be destroying them for the greater good.

  This time when his stomach growled, it wasn’t a friendly reminder to eat something. It was a command. He hadn’t eaten since his egg sandwich at breakfast, the dot of chocolate in his notebook notwithstanding. The hunger began to gnaw at him.

  He put his ear to the door, and when he didn’t hear anything, he unlocked it and slipped out. The halls were empty, with only the hum of a candy machine here and there to interrupt the silence. He crept toward the Cocoa Room and hid behind the chocolate fountain.

  Unbelievable! Steve was still in there, dragging a pile of cocoa beans across the room. Didn’t these people ever stop making chocolate?

  Then an idea hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he stumbled, bonking his head on the top rim of the fountain. He ducked low again, rubbing his head. What if Steve or Lenny was the inside guy? They had the easiest access to the place. Andrew’s notebook had stressed that when trying to achieve something, you always take the simplest route first. Surely his father would have done the same.

  But if it WAS one of them, then they already had the ingredient, and it didn’t matter if Philip got it or not.

  Or did it? Philip stood up fast, whacking his head again in the same place. He thought he heard something go plop this time, but he didn’t see anything. He ducked again and rubbed his head.

  It DID matter if he got it. If both he and his father were in possession of the secret ingredient, then he’d have a bargaining chip. It wouldn’t do his father any good to have it if everyone else did, too. And Philip would threaten to make sure that everyone did.

  He watched for another few minutes, and then his empty stomach prevailed. Creeping low, he went around the corner and headed to the cafeteria. All the smells from the day still lingered in the halls, which only made him hungrier.

  The cafeteria was