The Candymakers Read online

  “Ecstatic,” Philip said dryly.

  “Good!” Max thumped him on the back.

  Over the last few hours, the lab had been divided into four sections, each with its own lab table, burners, and equipment. The center of each table held a place card with the name of one of the four contestants. Logan saw only one sign of the earlier Fireball Supernova testing; Alvin, one of Max’s assistant confectionary scientists, held a bag of ice to his tongue and whimpered as he rinsed out a beaker in the sink.

  “Guess you need to turn the Supernovas down a notch?” Logan whispered to Max as they passed the unfortunate man.

  “What makes you say that?” Max asked innocently.

  The others couldn’t wipe the smiles off their faces as they found their stations. Logan wondered if Philip knew he looked like a totally different person when he smiled. Probably not. Unless he was in the habit of smiling at himself in the mirror, which Logan doubted.

  “Now,” Max began, walking among the stations. “What you see before you are the tools of a master confectionary scientist. You are welcome to add any other ingredients you like, as long as they’re on the approved list. Everything you need to take the contest judges by storm is this equipment, the raw ingredients in the right combination, and a huge helping of imagination.”

  “Oh, is that all,” Daisy said dryly.

  “Let’s take a few minutes to get familiar with our workstations. I’ll walk around and answer any questions you may have.”

  “I have a question,” Miles said, raising his hand. “What does this do?” He turned the knob on the Bunsen burner, and a thin purple flame shot a foot in the air. He leapt out of the way as Max ran over and switched it off. “Never mind!” Miles said, bowing his head.

  “Let’s all agree to ask questions first and act later, all right?” Max asked.

  Logan sent Miles a sympathetic glance. It was hard not to play with the burners. He and Henry often toasted marshmallows over them, mostly as an excuse to stare into the purple flame. Logan looked over his supplies: pans, candy and chocolate thermometers, a small scale, a blender, bowls, steel and wooden spoons, a marble slab, wax paper, a mixer, spatulas, and measuring cups and spoons.

  Max led them through some supposedly basic experiments, like heating sugar to different temperatures and making buttermilk and cream, which seemed easy for the others. It was fun watching the concoctions boil and bubble and sizzle. And colorful, too, when they started adding all-natural fruit flavors.

  Logan knew a lot would have to change in the next two days for his dream of winning to become a reality. He’d really need to work hard at it, perhaps harder than he’d worked on anything before. He’d have to quiet that voice in his head that told him he wasn’t smart enough. Could he really do that? Could he focus well enough? He doubted it.

  But if he could pull it off, if he could make the Bubbletastic ChocoRocket turn from chocolate to gum and back again, it would do more than take the contest judges by storm. It would make Life Is Sweet famous the world over.

  He wished he were back outside, staring up at the clouds and naming their shapes. That he was good at. Why couldn’t there be a contest for that?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Logan arrived at the Marshmallow Room the next morning, ten large pans of marshmallows were cooling on the counter. Henry had wasted no time whipping up a fresh batch. The others would be arriving at the factory in a few minutes, but Logan didn’t want another day to go by without his morning visit to Henry. He had so much to share.

  Henry whistled as he flipped over pans and peeled off wax paper with an ease and swiftness that came from decades of practice. Logan unwrapped the two sticks they had carefully handpicked in the woods near the factory a year ago. Henry divided up the marshmallows, and they took up their spots on either side of the largest burner, holding their sticks exactly two inches above the flame.

  Logan watched the flames arc gracefully toward the marshmallows, enjoying the ever-shifting shapes they made as they leapt. The marshy smell drifting from a fresh bundle of mallow plants in a box on the counter drew his attention.

  “I would have helped you harvest those,” he said. He enjoyed accompanying Henry into the swamp beside the pond.

  Henry kept his eyes on his marshmallow, always more careful not to let his burn. “We’ll go together next week,” he said, rotating his stick slightly. “Right now you have more important things to do.”

  Logan couldn’t help grinning. “Seriously, Henry, you should have seen it yesterday. After Max went over how to use the equipment, he gave us samples of the raw ingredients. Little containers of cane sugar and beet sugar and powdered sugar and flour and milk and all the nuts and different flavors of chocolate and egg whites—” Logan stopped to take a breath. “And food coloring and spices and cut-up fruit and all the sticky things like acacia gum and lecithin and carrageen, chicle and molasses and corn syrup and honey. And then Max got all serious and said something like ‘From these building blocks you can create something no one has seen before. I have faith in all of you.’ ”

  Henry lifted his marshmallow away from the flame and blew on it. “That sounds very profound indeed.”

  Logan nodded and pulled his marshmallow from the flame, too. “But what if he’s wrong? To have faith in me, I mean. After all, I’ve been trying—and failing—to make this work for years. Why would that change with only one day left before the contest?”

  Henry shrugged. “Things change when they’re ready to change. People change when they’re ready, too. You can never predict these things. You still haven’t told Max your idea, I gather?” Henry popped his perfectly toasted marshmallow into his mouth.

  Logan shook his head. “No one except you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Henry said, switching off the flame. “No one’s going to laugh at you.”

  Henry had an uncanny ability to read Logan’s mind. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “And if they do, well, they’ll just be jealous they didn’t think of it first.”

  Logan grinned. “That’s right!” He bit into the marshmallow and slid it off the stick. Then he placed the stick back in the cabinet for next time.

  “Good luck,” Henry said, placing his stick next to Logan’s. “By the way, how are you all getting along?”

  “Great,” Logan replied, surprised by the question. “Well, I guess Philip pretty much does his own thing. He’s not, um, very pleasant.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” Henry said, opening the door for Logan. “Perhaps he’s insecure in this new environment.”

  Logan nodded, although it seemed as if Philip had made himself right at home, bossing everyone around like he owned the place. He remembered the paper in his pocket and pulled it out: “ ‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.’ ”

  “See?” Henry said. “What did I tell you?”

  Logan grimaced. “I’ll try to be kind.” With a final wave, he ran the whole way to the front door, managing to get there before the others arrived. He walked outside and took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Along with the air came sweet scents from the field—peppermint and clover, apples and peaches, and a decidedly earthy smell from the barn.

  He sat on top of the old-fashioned milk jug to wait. Before his grandfather started keeping cows, milk for the chocolate had been delivered from the local dairy. For the last forty years, the large tin jug had stood empty by the side of the door. It always reminded Logan of his grandfather, and he suspected that’s why his dad had never gotten rid of it.

  For a brief second he worried that the others had changed their minds and dropped out of the competition. For an even briefer second he realized that in that case, he’d have a better chance of winning. He banished both of those thoughts from his head, and a minute later a small blue car pulled up. Miles hopped out, his big backpack over his shoulder again. Logan jumped up from the milk jug to greet him.

  “This is my dad,” Miles said, p