The Candymakers Read online

  “No problem there, if this is how you drive on water,” Philip replied. He looked back down at the letter. “It’s addressed just to me.”

  “You should read it to yourself, then,” Miles said.

  Philip nodded. “It’s probably just about the contest.”

  But it wasn’t.

  Dear Philip,

  Yesterday, when your father walked into the convention, I knew I’d seen him before. As soon as my dad saw him, he recognized him, too, and yanked me away with some excuse that Max needed my help back at the factory. Max and Henry kept trying to entertain me on the ride home with stories of the olden days in the factory (which I usually love), but something about your dad and the way he looked at me before my dad yanked me away kept nagging at me. Right before we got back to Spring Haven, I realized where I’d seen him. And then I knew who you were. I blurted it all out in the car. Then Henry filled me in on your side of the story. I didn’t think you and Henry had spoken more than two words to each other.

  I just wanted to tell you, I never blamed you for what happened to me. I was just a kid, and I thought that if I could get your truck back for you, we could be friends. I just wasn’t thinking when I reached into that vat.

  Last night when my parents came home, I told them I wanted them to start the tours up again, and the annual picnic, and when it looked like they didn’t want to, I told them that I don’t mind so much when people look at me for, like, a minute too long. It’s not their fault, they’re not trying to be hurtful. And the burns will get better—they already are.

  I know you were just trying to protect yourself by being kind of awful when you first came back to the factory. It was probably hard for you not to tell me who you were, and I’m kind of glad you didn’t, what with everything else going on. These last few days with you and Miles and Daisy have been the greatest days of my life. And I’ve had a lot of great days. You guys all treated me like I wasn’t any different at all, and that’s all I want. I’ve never worked so hard on anything before the Harmonicandy project, and now I know I can. Anyway, this is the longest letter I’ve ever written. I hope you’ll come back to the factory to hang out. I promise if you throw me something and I miss it, that I won’t climb into another vat of chocolate.

  Your friend, Logan

  PS No more secrets, ok?

  Philip blinked a few times as the note rustled in the breeze. He realized they’d reached the center of the lake. Daisy had crossed the oars over her lap and was watching him.

  “So?” she asked. “What did it say?”

  He hesitated for a minute, not sure if he really wanted to show them. But Logan was right. No more secrets. He handed Daisy the note and hoped they wouldn’t hate him when they read it.

  With shaking hands, he unwrapped the box. Inside sat a small plastic truck on a bed of cotton. His truck.

  Clutching it in his hand, he turned around and looked back at the beach. He could barely make out Logan lying on the sand, the bright orange life vest beneath his head, no doubt trying to decide what the cloud above him resembled. Philip looked up. A Bubbletastic ChocoRocket, he decided. Definitely.

  A Harmonicandy, LOGAN decided. Definitely. Then he turned away from the cloud and sat up. He tried to slide his finger under the flap of Daisy’s envelope. When that didn’t work, he ripped off the top, hoping he wasn’t harming anything inside. He reached in and pulled out a photograph with a small note attached in Daisy’s handwriting.

  If nothing ever changed, there’d be

  no such things as butterflies.

  xo, Daisy

  He smiled. She was right. He lifted off the note to see the photo underneath. It took a few seconds to register what he was looking at. Was that… him? He brought the picture closer. It had been taken a long time ago, before the accident. The little kid in the picture had no scars on his face and neck, only a wide grin. The butterfly on the tip of his nose was hard to miss. Yellow and black and red, just like the one in the chrysalis. Like the ones in the chrysalises every year. So a butterfly really had visited him before, even if he didn’t remember it. This picture was proof. Maybe no one ever got to witness the exact moment of transformation. Maybe some things were just meant to be private.

  It finally occurred to him to wonder who had taken the picture and how Daisy had wound up with it. He’d ask when they returned. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

  He lay back down, the photo resting on his chest. By now Philip would have read the note. The others probably had, too, which meant there were no more secrets between them anymore. Well, except maybe for one…

  Someday he’d tell Philip that the Stradivarius was actually made by Samuel Sweet—grandfather, candy factory founder, and woodcarving enthusiast.

  But not yet.

  After all, they’d be busy for a while. They were candymakers now, and they had a whole lotta candy to make.