His mother waited for him by his bedroom door. “Ready?”
Miles nodded and grabbed his green backpack from the end of his bed.
“Why don’t you leave that home today?” she asked gently.
He shook his head. “Can’t do that.” He slung the backpack over his shoulder and reached for the five books on the desk.
His mom stepped directly in front of them. “Those I think you can leave here. I’m quite sure you won’t have time for reading today.”
He wanted to tell her that he didn’t actually read the books, not entirely anyway. But he liked keeping some things secret. “Okay, Mom,” he said. She was right anyway. He doubted he’d have time for reading at the factory.
“Good. Now let’s go. I don’t want you to be late.”
Miles dutifully followed his mom out to the car, knowing they had plenty of time. His mother had never been even a moment late in her life. She set her watch (and alarm clock and car clock) a full half hour earlier than the real time. Miles was usually the only kid waiting outside the still-dark school each morning during the school year. He had to wait until a janitor came to unlock the door so he could slip into the library for a while before the halls filled with kids. Fortunately for him, he loved libraries more than anyplace in the world. He would live in one if he could. All that knowledge. All those worlds hidden inside the covers.
They got into the car, and his mother pulled on her yellow driving gloves. Yes, she wore driving gloves like a professional race-car driver. She said it helped her feel more connected to the car. Miles once argued, wouldn’t her bare hands on the wheel actually connect her more to the car? She said he’d understand when he was old enough to drive. Miles doubted that he would.
“The invitation to the factory said three of the other contestants would be there, too, right?” she asked, peeling out of the driveway. Oh yeah, his mom drove like a professional race-car driver, too.
“Yes, three, including the Candymaker’s son.”
“And you’re going to talk to them, right?”
“Yes, Mom. Dad already warned me. No talking backward.”
“I’m fine with that as long as you’re actually talking.”
“Why wouldn’t I talk to them?”
“Well, Miles, you can get awfully shy in new environments, and you’ve been keeping to yourself a lot.”
Miles didn’t answer. What could he say? She was right.
“And one’s a girl,” she added.
“I’ve spoken to girls before, Mom. Every day at school, in fact.”
“I know, it’s just that you’re at that age…”
He might be “at that age,” but the only girl ever on his mind was the one he couldn’t save.
“Oh, never mind, just be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” he argued.
“But don’t be too nice,” she said. “You don’t want anyone to push you around.”
“Mom, you’re driving me crazy.”
“Sorry, hon. This is a big deal, that’s all.”
“I know.” He’d heard rumors of a hundred applicants for every contestant who was selected. He was sure his essay on why he wanted to make candy was only chosen because Mrs. Chen had helped him write it. He tried to enjoy the colorful buildings of downtown Spring Haven, but their car zoomed by so fast, the background blended all together. Zoomed. He liked the way that one made his tongue vibrate when he said it silently. Zoooomed.
“So have you decided what new candy to make yet?”
Miles shook his head. He’d lain awake for hours the night before, hoping for a burst of inspiration that never came. No doubt the others had theirs all figured out. As they zipped through the quiet streets of east Spring Haven, he tried again to think of the perfect candy. Something no one had ever tasted before or even dreamt of.
Chocolate-covered jelly beans? Caramel-covered marshmallows on a stick? Both sounded yummy, and he did enjoy things covered in other things, but neither was creative enough to win the contest.
Because his mom took the posted speed limits as suggestions rather than laws, they arrived at the candy factory very soon—before he’d thought of anything worthy of entering. The only new idea that had occurred to him was whether, in the afterlife, people gained weight if they ate a lot of candy. He decided that they didn’t.
His mom drove up the long circular driveway and stopped in front of a huge wooden door, easily three times bigger than any door Miles had ever seen before. The factory itself was partly glass and partly deep red bricks. He’d never seen it up close like this; at the annual picnics, the townspeople hung out on the vast lawn in the back. And the picnics had stopped when he was only four or five, so his memory of the place was fuzzy at best. He felt his excitement stirring and knew it would be hopeless to try to suppress it.
“Well, will you look at that,” his mom said, pointing to the front stoop or, more precisely, to the girl sitting on it reading a book. “You’re not the first one here.”
“There’s a first time for everything, I guess,” Miles replied. He leaned over and kissed his mom on the cheek before climbing out.
The girl on the stoop wore a bright yellow dress and held her book so close to her face that all he could see was her eyes. She looked up when the car door closed, as though surprised to find she wasn’t alone anymore. Any book captivating enough to keep someone from hearing the rumbling engine of his mother’s old car was one Miles wanted to know about. But before he could ask for the title, she had jumped to her feet and stashed the book away.
“I’m Daisy,” she said, pumping his arm up and down and grinning.
Daisy, he repeated inside his head. He enjoyed the roundness of the word. A perfect name for this sunny girl in yellow, a double-l word! Hopefully these were signs that he and Daisy would get along just fine.
He heard his mom chuckle approvingly as she pulled away. He did his best to pretend he hadn’t. “I’m Miles.”
“Hi, Miles! I guess you’re here for the contest, too?”
He nodded and pushed up his glasses, a habit he had when he felt nervous. Okay, so maybe he didn’t have much experience talking to girls, especially not pretty girls with blond ponytails who were a good head taller than him. He straightened up to his full height, readjusting his backpack as he did so. He was still a head shorter than Daisy.
“Aren’t you totally excited?” she asked, her eyes gleaming. “I can’t believe this day is finally here.” She lifted her arms and spun around in a perfect circle, as if her excitement wouldn’t let her stand in one place.
Twirling. One of his very favorite words—that rare pairing of t and w. Plus it sounded just like what it meant.
He nodded in response to her question. He was excited, but he wished that was all he felt. He had to smile, though, as Daisy twirled around again and came to a stop. It would be impossible to think of sad things around this very full-of-life girl.
He knew it was his turn to say something. “Do you know how many contestants there are from our area?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you know?”
He shook his head. “I, um, don’t know too much about the contest.”
She stared at him. He pushed up his glasses. Clearly he had said the wrong thing. She’d probably counted down the days until she turned twelve and could enter this contest, and he was acting like he’d just entered last week. Which, of course, he had.
“There are four of us,” she eventually said. “You, me, one other kid, and Logan, the Candymaker’s son. He’s the one to beat.” She reached up to adjust her ponytail, which had started to slip from all the spinning.
Miles wanted to ask Daisy if she knew anything more about what had happened to Logan, but he couldn’t think how to ask without sounding nosy or rude. Before he could find some tactful way to bring up the subject, a car pulled up next to them. This was no ordinary car—long and black, with tinted windows. A limo, if ever he’d seen one. Which, outside of the movies, was never.
<
br /> Daisy let out a long whistle. They watched as the driver stepped out, walked the length of the car, and opened the back door. A boy in a blue suit, brown shoes, and a striped tie climbed out, a briefcase clutched under one arm. The driver tilted his hat at the boy and, without receiving so much as a thank-you, got in and drove away.
Miles had never seen a boy dressed like a man before. This boy wore it well, though. It helped that he was tall and broad in the shoulders. Miles suddenly felt very underdressed (and even smaller than he’d felt two minutes ago) in his white shorts, tan shirt, and sneakers.
The three of them stood there, eyeing one another, until Daisy stuck out her hand and introduced herself and then introduced Miles.
“Philip Ransford,” the boy replied. “The Third.”
Daisy laughed. When the boy’s expression didn’t change, she said, “Oh, you’re serious! I’m sorry.”
Philip rolled his eyes, and Miles had to stifle a laugh.
“Don’t let me interrupt whatever you were talking about,” Philip said. “I’m sure it was fascinating.”
“Actually,” Daisy said, “we were talking about how Logan’s the one to beat.”
“Hardly,” Philip said, resting his briefcase against the front stoop.
“Oh, really? How do you know?”
Miles watched the exchange with interest. He’d never seen two people take such an obvious dislike to each other so quickly.
“Because I’m going to win,” Philip replied. “I always do.”
“Oh, yeah?” Daisy stuck her hands on her hips. “How do you know I won’t win? Or Miles here?” She gestured toward Miles with her thumb.
“Me?” Miles said, reddening under their gaze. “I probably won’t win, so, um, don’t worry.”
Philip sniffed. “I never worry.”
Daisy just glared.
“Hey,” Miles said, anxious to break the tension. “Um, what do you guys know about Logan anyway? I mean, about what happened to him?”
Instead of breaking the tension, though, his comment only seemed to heighten it. Neither one answered him, and now Daisy’s glare had shifted from Philip’s face to his. He backed up a step. He already missed the cheerful twirling Daisy.
“Neither of you better say anything to him,” she warned. “I’m sure he’s very self-conscious, and we’re guests here. I don’t want to get thrown out because one of you says something mean.”
“I would never… I just meant…” Miles trailed off. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything.
“Don’t look at me,” Philip said. “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care. I’m not here to make friends.”
“Obviously,” Daisy muttered, but her expression relaxed a bit.
No one spoke for a minute, then Miles blurted out, “In the afterlife everyone is friends with everyone else.”
“Excuse me?” asked Philip.
“In the afterlife, you know, after you die. Everyone is like, really good friends because no one wants anything. When you don’t want anything, there’s no competition.”
“I like that idea,” Daisy said, her old cheerfulness mostly back. “I hope you’re right.”
Philip rolled his eyes. “There’s no such thing as the after-life. This is your only life. The sooner you realize that, the more successful you’ll be.”
Miles opened his mouth to argue, but Philip had already turned away and was climbing the steps. “How many times have you rung the bell?” he asked. “It’s quite rude of them to leave their guests out here so long.”
“We haven’t,” Daisy replied with a shrug. “I figure they’ll come get us when they’re ready.”
“Maybe we should see if it’s open?” Miles suggested.
Philip shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe how clueless they were, and pressed the doorbell, then pressed it again. Then a third time. He tried the doorknob, but it didn’t budge.
“Rude,” he muttered, glaring at the door as though the door itself were to blame for being locked.
“Not as rude as ringing the bell three times,” Daisy whispered to Miles.
Philip began to pace back and forth, clutching his briefcase.
“In the afterlife,” Miles whispered back, “all the doors are always open.”
“The afterlife is an old fairy tale,” Philip said angrily, coming to a stop. “And that’s just the way it is.”
As he spoke the last few words, the door swung open, surprising them all. And there he stood. Logan. The Candymaker’s son.
It was so much worse than Miles had imagined.
CHAPTER TWO
Attacked by a bear? Licked by flame while fleeing a smoke-filled room? Chased into a volcano by a pirate? Miles couldn’t imagine what had happened to cause those scars.
Then the Candymaker’s son said something about strangers and angels, and Miles listened, spellbound. Logan’s voice sounded like the kind of voice you hear in your head when you’re reading a really good book. Familiar and hopeful and exciting all at once.
In an instant, Miles knew he wanted more than anything to be this boy’s friend. It wasn’t because he felt sorry for him or anything like that. Logan radiated something that felt like goodness. In a weird way, he made Miles feel peaceful, which he usually felt only when he was on his roof or working on one of his alphabets. He wished, as he often did when something important happened, that the Girl He Couldn’t Save could be here. He bet she really would have liked Logan, too.
Daisy was kind enough to make the introductions, and it took all of Miles’s willpower not to blurt out, what happened to you? He knew that if he did he’d never forgive himself. Plus he’d have the wrath of Daisy to deal with, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. He wished he hadn’t let his mother talk him out of bringing his books. He’d just checked them out of the library the day before and hadn’t even opened them yet. He knew they’d tell him what he needed to know. They always did.
All rational thought flew from his mind as soon as he stepped inside the factory. The shafts of light from the glass ceiling threw gold in every direction. The walls, the floors, the ceilings—everything glittered and glowed. Miles didn’t know what to look at first.
Logan explained about the gummy dinos in the case, and the more he spoke, the more excited Miles felt to be there. Mrs. Chen had been right. This is exactly where he needed to be. He wanted to eat everything, touch everything, to be a part of this place the way Logan clearly was.
When Philip inexplicably stuck his hand into the chocolate cascading from the fountain, Miles wished he could feel the silky warmth on his own hand. But he’d never have done that. He watched Philip take out a notebook and scribble something in it. He held his pencil in a really weird way, with his thumb at the top instead of the bottom.
Miles knew that when he was working on one of his alphabets or adding to his picture of the afterlife, he could get so absorbed that everything around him disappeared. But that was nothing compared with the intensity on Philip’s face as he wrote in his notebook. Miles had the sickly feeling that Philip would do anything he had to in order to win. He definitely must have meant it when he said he didn’t care about making friends. He must have insulted Logan and the factory ten times in the first ten minutes. How could anyone be mean to Logan?
Daisy was quick to rise to Logan’s defense each time and didn’t let Philip get away with anything. Miles was very grateful she was here. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand up to Philip on his own, and Logan was way too nice to insult him back.
Daisy left for the bathroom before the tour began, and Miles made a silent plea for Philip not to start anything without her there as a buffer. His mom needn’t have worried that he wouldn’t talk, because when he got anxious, he got talkative. And when he got talkative, it usually led to talking about the afterlife and the cool things they had there.
Logan and Max seemed interested in hearing him talk about it, though, which was a nice change from his parents. And teachers. And class
mates.
As pleased as it made him to think of the girl living in the nice place he’d created for her, there was a downside. Having his head half in this world and half in the next meant that he saw potential death everywhere he looked. First Logan had gone into shock or something in the Taffy Room, and now Philip was having a hiccupping fit in the hall outside the Neon Yellow Lightning Chews Room just because Miles had mentioned that in the afterlife all the candy factories were open to the public.
All he wanted to do was focus on the amazing things around him, but it was hard when he had to worry every few minutes about one of his fellow contestants dropping dead.
Logan was obviously excited about the next stop on the tour. The second Philip stopped hiccupping and gasping, Logan started off down the hall. He was walking really fast and kept glancing back at the others, his eyes gleaming even more than usual. Miles found it hard to keep up.
“You okay?” Daisy asked, stepping back to walk with Miles. “You look a little green. Don’t let Philip and his dramatics bother you. Serves him right for interrupting you again. I don’t know why he minds hearing about the afterlife so much. I think it’s really interesting.”
He smiled weakly. It was nice of her to say that, but if Philip didn’t want to hear about the afterlife, he’d try not to mention it. He didn’t want any more fits. Plus he thought he’d seen something in Philip’s face during his attack of hiccups, something like fear. He didn’t want to see it again.
They rounded the corner past the cafeteria and suddenly there it was, in all its oak-paneled glory. A library! He wouldn’t need his books from home to make him feel better. He skidded to a halt. Max tried to rush him along to the next stop, but Miles was too busy thinking about the treasures those shelves must hold to wonder where Logan was leading them. “Can’t I just go in for a few minutes? I’ll meet you at the next place, I promise.”
Max finally agreed and gave him the directions. Logan looked a little disappointed, but Miles knew he’d catch up in a few minutes. This never took long.
The others went on their way, and Miles approached the wooden door. It was one of the few he’d seen in the factory that didn’t swing open and shut. It felt a little like intruding, but he turned the knob and ducked his head in.