What was next was a very long, very shiny pink boat approaching. I've decided Mr. Wonka likes shiny things. The uniforms, this boat, his brooch; I wondered if maybe in another life Mr. Wonka had been a crow.

The boat came floating down the chocolate river from somewhere to the left of the chocolate fall, and that was when I knew this factory went on, and on, and on, because we had all been on top of the bridge near the fall, looking in the exact same area where this boat had come from, and there had been no boat there. Was there a secret room? Had the boat come up from the floor, in a dry place, and then they had opened gates, and flooded where it was, so it could float out now? I think that would make noise, but maybe the noise from the fall would block it out. Or maybe the sound of singing would? I shook my head. I guess it really doesn't matter. There was a boat here now, and we were all watching it close in on us.

Well, not the Gloops. They weren't watching it.

It was an open boat, pointy at both ends, with a sea horse head rising up at its front, and a sea horse tail rising up at its rear. It reminded me of a Viking boat from days of old. There were benches across it, and Oompa-Loompas in shiny blue uniforms, three at an oar, rowing it. There were eighteen oars, so that's a lot of Oompa-Loompas, and unless they can change clothes really fast and jump into a boat, these were not the same Oompa-Loompas we'd seen before. They all looked the same, so you couldn't tell from that. Mr. Wonka hadn't said how many Oompa-Loompas were in the tribe, but I was getting the idea it had to be a lot.

The boat stopped, and the the Oompa-Loompas looked at us, and then they all started laughing, and nudging each other. It wasn't a mean laugh, exactly, but it wasn't a nice laugh, either. It was the laugh you hear when you walk up to people who have been talking about you and they stop talking about you by laughing. That was my take on it—I've been there; more than I'd like to say—and I guess Violet thought so, too, but where I don't let that kind of thing get to me, she got defensive about it.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

Mr. Wonka was right on it with an answer.

"I think it's from all those doggone cacao beans."

I don't think Mr. Wonka wanted any more questions about it, because he kept on talking, and told us that chocolate had a property that 'gives one the feeling of being in love'.

As my Grandma Josephine would say, Mrs. Beauregarde jumped on that like a duck on a June bug.

"You don't say," Mrs. Beauregarde purred.

Yes, purred. That's what it sounded like. It sounded like she was purring, but she's not a cat, and I wondered why she was making her voice sound that way. Whatever her reason, it made Mr. Wonka gulp like he was about to eat a bowl of the mashed-up green caterpillars he'd told us about from Loompaland. Mrs. Beauregarde followed up what she'd said with a sly looking expression that included a smile, aimed right at Mr. Wonka, and Mr. Wonka turned away from that expression as quick as he could; so quick, he didn't see her bat her eyelashes at him, and then I thought, ew, I get it, but then I thought: I bet that's not a good idea.

"All aboard!" said Mr. Wonka, to change the subject. Lucky for him, the boat was ready, and we could, and that's what we did: we all got on board.

Well, not the Gloops. They didn't get on board.

There were lots of empty seats at the back, so there was plenty of room, even if the Gloops had been here. Violet was on first, and then came her mother, but they're the competitive type, so that was no surprise, but it was a surprise that they were in almost a dead heat with the Teavees. I didn't think Mike was that interested, to move that fast, but maybe he was. It'd been an adventure, so far, and dangerous—just ask the puppets, or Augustus and his mother—and if his video games said anything about him, Mike liked dangerous adventure. Then came the Salts, and then I helped my Grandpa Joe get on board. The seats were higher in the very back, and I wanted to see as much as I could, so that's where we went: to the very last seat.

Mr. Wonka was the very last person to get on board, and he did it carefully, as if falling out of the boat were a possibility he wanted to avoid. Has he fallen out? We'd better be careful. Mr. Wonka sat next to me and Grandpa Joe, and I wondered if he wished there were another seat, because it was a narrow seat, and if he sat there he'd have to touch me. He could have sat on a wider seat and not touched anyone. I gave him as much room as I could.

"Onward!" he called.

The Oompa-Loompa at the drum in front started the beat, and off we went, oars dipping into melted chocolate. Mr. Wonka was about to say something, but then he decided not to, and instead he looked sick. I did, too, and I think for the same reason. Maybe this tour wasn't such a good idea, after all. I snuck a glance over at Mr. Wonka, and he was studying the others. That's why he'd sat here! He could see them all from here, just the way he could see us all at the puppet show. He could see our reactions, without us knowing, because he was behind us. Grandpa Joe and I had kind of messed that up for him with where we'd sat, this time. And then…

Mr. Wonka turned away. He leaned down, and then he leaned over the side of boat, and when he sat back up he said, "Here," and he handed me a ladle, a shiny pink ladle full of fresh melted chocolate from the river. "Try some of this," he said. "It'll do you good," and he handed me the ladle, and I took it, and then he said the thing that made my mind up about him forever, and it was this: "You look starved to death!"

'Starved to death'.

"It's great," I said after trying it—and it was great, the greatest chocolate I've ever tasted, because it was warm, and warming, and I could see why Augustus wouldn't mind falling into it—but what was really great was that a stranger, a person I had just met, a person I hadn't known for an hour, had seen me for what I am, and done something about it, and said something about it, and hadn't been afraid to use words like 'starve' and 'death', scary words that most people won't go near, much less say out loud. It was so… I felt… At first I didn't know what I felt, because the feeling had no words, but then I did! I found words for it! I felt free! I felt alive! I felt seen! I wasn't invisible anymore! It was better than finding the Golden Ticket! This man could see me! And he wasn't afraid to speak the truth that he saw! I hugged myself inside. Even if the truth was awful, he wasn't afraid to say it. I knew then that this odd loner, running a candy factory spies had tried to steal from him, was kind, and caring—for sure!—and that he could face anything, no matter how scary! Except for people touching him maybe, but I could live with that!

I gave the ladle to my Grandpa Joe, and he was as happy as I was to have that ribbon of warm yumminess gliding down his throat.

"That's because it's mixed by waterfall," said Mr. Wonka, as I beamed at him. Taking the ladle from my Grandpa Joe, I put it on the bottom of the boat. Where I put the ladle didn't bother Mr. Wonka—coats on the floor; ladles on the bottoms of boats, it's all the same to him, I guess—but I guess my beaming at him did bother him, because he launched into the speech about the waterfall being most important that he'd already told us.

The others turned around to listen. They'd missed the part about the ladle, and the chocolate, and what Mr. Wonka had said to me, but the warmth in my stomach had spread to the rest of my body by now—my fingers and toes all tingling and happy—and I'd never felt better about anything. I could listen to the same speech a hundred times, and not mind at all, even if it was being recited word-for-word.

Veruca minded, though.

"You already said that," she spat.

Mr. Wonka is good at frowning. He was frowning now. To keep him company, I frowned with him. He'd been pointing with his index finger for emphasis, and now he drew it back, and folded it into his hand with the movements a machine might use. He'd been leaning forwards, towards them, but now he sat up. He sat back. He made an observation.

"You're all quite short, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," snapped Violet, along with her gum. "We're children."

"Well that's no excuse, I was never as short as you."

I decided Mr. Wonka wasn't used to people talking back to him. Heck, he wasn't used to people talking to him at all. He wasn't used to it, and he wasn't happy with it. He was picking a fight, the way a lot of the kids at my school would pick a fight. Mike was happy to take part.

"You were once," he said.

Does Mike pick fights? It got worse. Mr. Wonka was acting like he was Mike's age, or really, a lot younger than Mike.

"Was not! Know why? Because…"

Mr. Wonka was still talking, but I stopped listening to him, the way I stop listening to silly fights at my school. Mr. Wonka is a grown-up. Doesn't he know how silly he's being? Acting like a kid in a school yard? He ended his silly attack with a smug little giggle, and it was too much. No one kind enough to take the trouble to offer me a ladle of chocolate, because he could see I was starving, and say out loud the things I can never say to my own family, could truly be this way. I didn't know what brought it on, or why he was doing it, but then I remembered the signs I'd seen that he'd been bullied when he was a kid, and that's what he was doing now, bullying, and he needed reminding he hadn't like that. That he shouldn't be like this! The others had turned away. I spoke up.

"Do you even remember what it was like being a kid?"

"Oh, boy, do I," said Mr. Wonka in that sweet voice he had, but he turned away from me as he said it, and then I heard him ask himself the same question, with fewer words, and he sounded sad, and then he went away—I can't explain it any other way—he was still in the boat, with us, but he was gone, and I wondered what had happened. What had I done?

The boat floated on, the Oompa-Loompas taking no notice, the Chocolate Room banks passing quietly by. This wasn't good, as Mrs. Gloop might say. We needed Mr. Wonka here, with us! What had I done? I shivered, but it wasn't from cold, or excitement. It was from fear.

Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
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As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.