William burst through the next set of doors like a cowboy entering a saloon, even though they appeared to be the same heavy steel as the rest of the SPD. I nudged one as I followed and was surprised to find that it moved at the slightest touch. How did that work? Special hinges?

"The bubble room!" he declared as he spun on his toes and walked backwards into the center of the room.

Unlike the chocolate version, the bubble room drew a few gasps and giggles from the jaded celebrities. And it was no wonder why. I felt my breath catch as I tried—and failed—to take in all of the chaotic playfulness at once.

"This is more like it!" Mike said, and I had to agree.

The powder-pink space was precisely what I imagined the Wonka Chocolate Factory might look like when I was a boy. Massive bubble wands blew pearlescent orbs in impossible directions like darts, dashing them against the walls and leaving circular stains on the paint. I chuckled at a pair of leather shoes on hydraulic presses that repeatedly stomped on stringy gum and gaped at a single pink bubble that filled an entire corner of the room.

"What are these?" Violet asked as she approached a row of cartoonish columns with bowls of bubblegum on top. Their placement made them look like part of the tour rather than the laboratory.

"One moment," William replied. He lifted his cane, pressed a button that flipped the top of the lollypop handle open, and removed something that looked suspiciously like an earbud. Then he shoved it into his right ear and said, "Yes?"

I took the opportunity to examine a row of transparent tubes as thick as my waist that each contained a different fizzy soda. The liquids inside ranged in bubbliness from "freshly poured champagne" to "poorly-mixed soda fountain," and the frothing head on the latter, to my amusement, sparkled with magenta glitter.

William cleared his throat. "That was my law team. Unfortunately, due to Mr.—" He caught my eye and corrected himself with a cough. "Due to Augustus' accident, I can no longer assume signage and verbal instructions are enough to protect you. There will be no more sampling without direct supervision."

"Mister Augustus? Who taught the old dog new tricks?" Veruca asked, and it took me a moment to realize she was eyeing me.

"I, uh..."

"Progress is nothing more than a series of corrected mistakes," William interrupted. "And this is a good segue into our first demonstration! Charlie, if you don't mind..."

He gestured to one of the pedestals, which held a bowl of white gumballs, each stamped with a stylized W and a tooth-shaped outline. My stomach twisted. Was that his secret dentistry solution? Chewing gum?

"You'll need this," he said and handed me a small waste bin from beside the pedestal.

"Why? Am I going to get sick?"

I took the bin but eyed it like one might a bag of fresh dog mess.

He chuckled. "It's to spit in when you finish chewing. Trust me. You'll want it."

Trust for William was a complicated matter. But everyone was staring, and curiosity was killing me, so I reached for one of the glistening gumballs and popped it into my mouth. It crushed flat as if hollow between my teeth and tasted of peppermint, which I supposed was unsurprising for a dental-themed gum. I chewed it until soft while he addressed the others.

"You may have seen recent news that claimed Alzheimer's medication could be used to regrow dentin."

Mike raised his hand like he was in grade school. "What's dentin?"

"It's part of your tooth just below the enamel. Enamel which is famously impossible to replace once it's worn away, even with modern medical miracles."

Is that what the gum was supposed to do? Regrow the dentin in my teeth? It did feel a little tingly. Neat!

"Of course, medical miracle workers know nothing of the experiments I've been conducting here for decades! Using myself as the guinea pig, of course."

He nodded to Violet when he said the last bit, and she seemed pleased that he'd conducted experiments on himself instead of animals. The thought of it put a foul taste in my mouth, though. Wait. No. Something else put a foul taste in my mouth, just as he said it. Eugh. It was like licking the wrong end of a cigarette.

My molars came down on a lump of solid gumball shell that crunched and sent a shock of discomfort along my jaw. The horrified look on my face prompted William to flail at the waste bin.

"Spit! Spit!"

I spat the shell into the bin and watched it stick to the bag. It was tiny and curved, off-white on one side and stained on the other like a used coffee cup—nothing like the gumball's surface. Was it a mistake in production?

"I've improved my formula to the point where a single piece of gum can repair any damage to existing teeth—except metal fillings. I still haven't worked those out. Spit! The gum, too!"

Crunchy shards, too many to be defects, filled my mouth like fish pebbles and stuck to the gum, blending into it with each chew. I spit the whole ruined lump into the bin, then continued to spit the shards again and again. The product didn't make me sick, but the taste might.

"Once I get approval," William said, "I'll load these into vending machines and ship them to every restaurant and supermarket that wants one."

"For how much?" Veruca asked. "Per gumball?"

"Good question. I'm not sure how much gumballs go for these days. Charlie?"

I spat the last of the shards, then a whole bunch of cigarette-flavored saliva for good measure. Even if I knew the answer to the question, I wasn't ready to answer.

Veruca scoffed. "This will disrupt an entire industry. One-tenth of my daddy's income comes from flavoured denture adhesive. Just adhesive! Only a fool would charge regular gumball prices. You'll put millions of people out of business, including yourself!"

William eyed me as I wiped drool on my sleeve, then lifted his cane and pressed the button that allowed him to speak to whomever it was out there listening. "Please take a note. The anticavity gum needs a sweet aftertaste to overpower hidden rot behind fillings."

Fillings! I thought so! All the tiny pebbles I spat into the bin looked like they might be fillings. But did that mean...?

I ran my tongue across my teeth. They were smooth! Perfect! All the surfaces were as round and bumpy as when they first came in. Perhaps too much so. I scraped a fingernail along the edge of my front teeth and was surprised to find they were serrated.

"Ah, sorry," William said. "I forgot to warn you that your mamelons would regrow. Don't worry! They'll wear flat again with time. Until your next piece of gum, anyway."

Veruca coughed and crossed her arms just above her exposed abdomen. "Did you even hear me?"

"Right. Yes. Where were we? Hmm. Will I put myself out of business? No. Quite the opposite. Tooth decay is the number one reason parents deny children sweets. No cavities means no excuses. Show them your teeth, Charlie."

I grimaced. It was the best I could manage until I had a chance to rinse my mouth out. Veruca lowered her arms and nodded.

"Whitened, too. Nice. Would save me a few trips to the cosmetic dentist a year. And I suppose I can warn daddy."

William again hissed at the d-word, but Veruca either didn't notice or didn't care.

"I whiten mine with baking soda and lemon juice," Violet said. "It's just as effective as the toxic chemicals in whiteners if you clean your teeth often enough."

"What's this one do?" Mike shouted.

We all spun to see him standing over a column with a bowl of star-shaped gum. The guy was like an infant drawn to bright colors and simple shapes. William humored him.

"Those change hair color. It's a proprietary formula."

To demonstrate, he turned his head to the side and brushed his hair upward, showing off the wreath-like crown of colors woven into the brown. Each section was dyed back to the root with no dark regrowth.

"Pfft. Whatever. My colorist works with movie stars," Veruca said. "I can change my look whenever I like."

"Sure, but can you grow hair in any color you like?"

I held in a gasp of surprise. If William could alter his natural appearance with gum, it explained why the old photos of him Arthur dug up looked so different. The skin, the hair color, the pale eyes—they weren't the result of being turned. They were side-effects of experiments!

Veruca snorted. "Grow? You mean slowly? Over years? Nobody wants that!"

"I do!" Violet interjected. It was the most enthusiasm I'd seen her show all day, including the embarrassing display with Mike in the break room. "Can I try one? I did a segment last week on the dangers of so-called organic, allergen-free dyes. I'd love to follow it up with an all-natural alternative!"

William's fingers tapped the handle of his cane as he pondered the question. "You probably shouldn't."

She frowned eyed the bowl with suspicion. "Is it dangerous? Like the fish?"

"It's safe if you know what you're doing. But the color doesn't automatically target the proper hair follicles. There's a technique to it, and it takes a lot of self-discipline."

A flash of anger crossed Violet's eyes, and I winced. Poor choice of words, William.

"You think I don't have self-discipline?"

He blanched—an impressive feat for someone whose normal complexion resembled primed drywall—and raised a hand. "That's not—"

"Do you have any idea how much discipline it takes to maintain this?" Violet gestured from the top of her head to her feet as if it proved her point, though it was difficult to make out anything praise-worthy through layers of flowing fabric.

William tried to start over. "Listen—"

"One and a half hours of yoga. Three liters of water. A completely vegan diet. No alcohol or tobacco, ever. Day creams. Night creams. Supplements…"

"Please stop. The answer is no."

"Because you think I can't handle it? But your boyfriend can?"

I choked on my ashtray-flavored spit, gagged, and brought the bin back for another round of sputtering.

Mike gave a nervous chuckle. "Not cool, Vi."

"Don't not cool me. Are we supposed to pretend we haven't noticed Wonka eyeing Bucket like a three-course dinner this whole time? Like it's any surprise he's getting preferential treatment?"

Wait, what? Was that true? The whole time? How did I miss that?

William cleared his throat. "Miss…Violet. If you want to try the anticavity gum as well, you're more than welcome. But this particular bowl is off-limits. That's final."

Oh my god. He didn't deny anything she said. What did I miss!?

Violet stomped toward William until they were eye-to-eye. "The hell it is."

"Whoa. Whoa!" Mike attempted to tug her back. "You don't have to chew the gum to do the show, right? Don't blow this."

"It's not about the show. It's about respect! I'm tired of being treated like a baby because I care more about my body and the planet than everyone else."

Mike stroked her hand. "Nobody thinks you're a baby, babe."

"Oh yeah? You think I can't tell when you placate me to make me shut up? You think I don't notice when you dance around a subject because you think I'll have a tantrum? That's infantilizing!"

Okay. Violet had a point. She was more observant than she let on. So, did that mean she was right about William? Was he…checking me out?

She huffed. "My choices are well-researched and deliberate, not emotional. Yours are emotional, driven by raw animal instinct. I'm not a child. I'm enlightened. I'm capable of evaluating risks for myself. And I'm having some of that gum. That is final!"

Before any of us could react, she ripped her hand from Mike's grasp and buried it in the bowl. The purple star she retrieved had a glaze that turned maroon where light struck it, like a custom paint job on a luxury car. She popped it into her mouth and gave it a dramatic chomp right in William's face.

William remained silent. Not a quivering-with-rage silence, but a grim silence like one might adopt during a hostage negotiation. He looked her directly in the eyes, face devoid of emotion, and fed her instructions.

"Listen to me. I need you to focus on your hair now. Really focus on it. Picture exactly where your hairline sits on your scalp. Even the bits around your ears. Then fill in the rest, inch by inch. Don't think about anything else. It's crucial."

"Why?" Mike asked. "What happens if she thinks about something else?"

"Shush. Miss...damnit. Violet. Are you focusing on your hair? Every strand of hair on your head?"

Violet nodded. Her eyes narrowed, but her jaw was no longer clenched. Was she afraid? Was there something to be afraid of? William watched her like one might watch a performer on a tight rope, nervous that every step could result in a catastrophic fall. Then, after some time had passed without incident, he exhaled.

"It seems I misjudged you, as you said. Please accept my apologies."

I hadn't realized how tense I was until that moment—and I wasn't the only one. There was a collective sigh as everyone took a step back from Violet and shivered off bunched nerves. Even Veruca looked like a cat assuming an "I meant to do that" pose after a tumble from a desk.

William didn't take his eyes from Violet's scalp, even when I set the waste bin down and moved beside him. I thought he'd at least glance my way after what Violet said, but perhaps the idea was so ridiculous to him that it didn't warrant a second thought. Or maybe it was spot-on, and now we had something awkward between us. Oh god.

He tapped his cane in thought again. "I intended to show you all the final gum bowl, but I think we should move on to—oh dear."

"What's oh dear?" Violet asked.

I followed his laser-focused gaze to a patch of freckles on her left cheek that I hadn't noticed before. Did she have them earlier? If she did, they probably weren't purple. I covered my mouth with my hand as I watched several more pop up on her right cheek and forehead.

"You're turning violet, Vi!" Mike screeched.

She grabbed at her face and patted her cheeks as if she could feel the color. It didn't help. More freckles sprouted on her chin and nose, and the ones on her cheeks blended into a single blob.

"Uh," I stammered as I searched for a way to assist, "Some of the soda tubes are reflective."

I pointed to the tubes, and she ran. Tiny squeals escaped her throat as she hopped from one bubbly liquid to the next in search of one colorless enough to assess the full extent of the damage.

"I'm pink!" she screamed.

"Lilac," William corrected. "Try to refocus on your scalp. There may be time to divert the rest of the color."

"The rest of the color!?" she shrieked. "What about my face?"

"I'm afraid the staining on your epidermis is permanent, but—"

"Permanent!"

Violet's eyes glistened, and her brows knitted as if she couldn't decide if she wanted to explode with anger or have a meltdown on the floor. I felt helpless, as did Mike, apparently, because his arms raised towards her and fell to his sides as often as her expression changed.

"Please, calm down," William said.

Wrong word choice again. Violet wailed like a starving cat, and Mike and I shimmied away from William in an instinctive attempt to avoid the blast radius.

"Only the topmost layer of your skin is stained. It will shed! Your skin won't always be Lilac if you calm down and refocus on your scalp."

Violet wailed again, and rivers of tears streamed down her cheeks. Snot bubbled from her nose.

William pressed the talk button on his cane. "Room three. Someone got into the stars. We'll need a sensory deprivation chamber. And a therapist."

The moment his thumb lifted from the button, the same two security officers who dragged Augustus away reappeared. I frowned. Augustus was under the influence of chemicals and needed restraint, but Violet was just sad. She didn't deserve to be hauled away like a criminal.

Mike, unsurprisingly, had similar opinions. "Stay away from her!"

He put himself between the officers and Violet, who collapsed into a puddle of earth-tone fabrics on the floor, but William waved him away.

"Miss Beauregarde—" He winced but didn't correct himself or look at me. "Please. Let my staff escort you to a chamber where you can focus on the color. I used it myself when I was in your shoes. And look, I'm fine now! I believe you can do it, but not in this environment."

He smiled and showed her his hair again, and she sniffled in response. His words appeared to soothe her mood, but what choice did she have? The officers held out their arms, and she used both to lift herself to her feet.

"They'll take care of her," William said to Mike, who looked like he might follow. "Please, stay with the tour. She needs solitude."

Mike nodded and watched Violet depart like a puppy might watch his human leave for work. The officers showed more tenderness than they had with Augustus, but it didn't make the image of a sobbing girl dragged away by uniformed men any more palatable.

William shifted his cane from one hand to another. "Let's go somewhere without samples."

He spun on a heel and marched back towards the hallway. This time, his posture was stiff and his expression sour, as if he'd moved on from disappointment to resentment. I couldn't entirely blame him. His guests weren't so much getting a rotten tour as sabotaging an exciting one.

Mike followed with hunched shoulders and balled fists, likely harboring some resentment of his own. I was honestly unsure which of them I'd side with if they asked—but the point was moot. William hadn't asked my opinion. He hadn't even looked at me since Violet's accusation.

Not once.