by Lou Kuenzler
LOU KUENZLER was brought up on a remote sheep farm on the edge of Dartmoor. After a childhood of sheep, ponies, chickens and dogs, Lou moved to Northern Ireland to study theatre. She went on to work professionally as a theatre director, university drama lecturer and workshop leader in communities, schools and colleges. Lou now teaches adults and children how to write stories and is lucky enough to write her own books, too. She has written children’s rhymes, plays and novels as well as stories for CBeebies. Lou lives in London with her family, two cats and a dog.
To Rachel – small but never shrinking – thanks for everything. LK
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgments
Look Out for Violet’s Next Adventure…
Copyright
My name is Violet Potts.
This story begins on a BIG day for me. (At least, I hoped it would be a big day…) I was trying to measure how tall I was.
It was April. One whole month since my tenth birthday and I was hoping I had grown a bit since then. It’s not that I’m short – I’m one of the tallest girls in class – it’s just that I needed to be a few teeny-tiny centimetres
Have you ever tried measuring yourself on your own? It’s not an easy thing to do. I twisted my head round, trying to read the measuring stick on the wall behind me.
“Yes!” It really looked as if I had grown!
I around the half of the bedroom that I’m allowed to bounce around. The half that doesn’t belong to my sulky fourteen-year-old sister, Tiffany-the-terrible-teenager. The half that isn’t hung with more mirrors than a fancy hair salon.
“Line,” sighed Tiffany, peering into one of the mirrors to examine a pink pimple on the end of her nose. “Don’t you dare cross The Line, Violet!”
“The Line” is an old dressing-gown cord which Tiffany stapled to the floor to keep me out of her half of the room. As if I’d want to go over there anyway! Normally, I’d have listed the top ten million reasons why I have no interest whatsoever in going over to Tiffany’s side.
But today was not a day to argue about room sharing. Today, I would have to be Super-nice – because I needed Tiffany’s help.
“You couldn’t just pop over here and double-check exactly how tall I am, could you?” I asked nicely. I held out a blue crayon. If I really was as tall as I hoped I was, today was about to be the BIGGEST and day of my whole life!
But Tiffany ignored me and began to squeeze her spot.
“Please!” I begged.
“No,” grunted Tiffany.
“Pretty please!”
“NO!”
This went on for seven and a half minutes. In the end (after I offered to do ten extra washing-up duties, clean our hamster cage six times and give Tiffany two pounds and ninety-three pence), she agreed to help.
“You’re exactly one point four metres tall,” she said, marking a blue for Violet against the measuring stick. “Are you totally, totally sure?” I was bouncing again. “This is news!”
I bounced over to one of Tiffany’s million-trillion mirrors.
“Line,” she squealed, but I ignored her and took a good look at myself. I looked pretty much the same as usual. The same short brown hair. Same skinny arms and freckly nose… But I was a little taller. Now I looked closely, I could DEFINITELY see it. My favourite dark purple dungarees were short above my ankles now.
“So you’ve grown. What’s the big deal?” sighed Tiffany.
Sisters can be so stupid sometimes!
“The big deal is exactly that!” I said. “I am at last. I am one point four metres tall. That means I am legally, lawfully, totally tall enough to ride on
“Plunger?” sniffed Tiffany. “Not that stupid roller coaster thing?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I love scary theme-park rides. The bigger and scarier the better.
is NOT stupid!” I fumed. is awesome! is the , most roller-coaster ride in the whole country!”
“Whatever!” Tiffany flopped back on to her bed. “I don’t know why you’re so excited. You’ll never get to go on it anyway.”
But that’s where Tiffany was wrong. Dad had promised he would take me, just as soon as I was tall enough.
A week later, our whole family stood in the queue to ride
Dad had made his promise and he had to stick to it.
“I can’t believe it!” I cried, turning cartwheels in the line and nearly kicking the woman behind us in the face.
“Sorry!” I said. “It’s just that this is
I’d been on loads of scary rides before – at the fairground and things – but never anything as and as
“It does look very big,” said Mum.
We all stared up at the roller coaster. It was by far the tallest ride in the theme park, towering above everything else. Its shiny tracks twisted up high into the sky, then plunged back down to the ground. It looked as if an was practising huge curly handwriting in the sky.
“I don’t know how you talked us into this, Violet,” said Mum. Her face had gone a funny green cabbagey colour.
“It’s going to be ” I said. “We’ll be hurled through the air so fast, we’ll throw up that horrible Oaty Flake cereal we had for breakfast!”
“And that’s a good thing?” asked Dad, looking up from a text he was sending.
“We’ll die of boredom first!” groaned Tiffany as the queue edged slowly forward. “I can’t believe I’ve had to wait all morning for this!”
“You’re lucky,” I told her. “I’ve had to wait my life!”
It’s true. I’ve been desperate to ride on ever since I was tiny. Even before I could read, I pointed to a picture of the roller coaster in a library book called One Thousand Scary Things To Do Before You Die! I made Dad borrow a copy and read to me about the roller coaster every night.
Now we were almost there! If only the queue would move faster.
Dad checked the emails on his phone. Tiffany squeezed a new pimple on the end of her nose. Mum closed her eyes and tried to meditate.
“Ommmmmmmmmmmmm! Think of a calm place,” she hummed. “A beautiful beach. No roller coasters, just palm trees and sand. Ommmmmm…”
“Can we have a fizzy drink while we wait?” I asked.
“No!” Mum didn’t even blink. “Ommmmmmm! Fizzy drinks are…”
“…JUST JUNK!” chorused me and Tiffany together. Mum’s super-strict about junk food and healthy eating. Which was pretty funny, actually, because right now her face was as green as all the green vegetables she has ever made us eat!
“But Dad’s got a fizzy drink,” said Tiffany.
“No I haven’t.” Dad looked down at the giant cup he was holding. “This is … er … just water. We’re nearly there now, anyway. Look!”
At last, the entrance was in sight. A carriage full of screaming passengers thundered over our heads. I could see people’s wide-open mouths, their cheeks pulled back by the force of the wind, their hair flying upside down as they bombed, hea
d first, towards the ground.
“Ommmmmmmmmm!” said Mum, screwing her eyes tight shut and groaning louder than ever.
I looked at the sign up ahead, and the big red measuring line, which said:
“Are you sure you measured me properly, Tiff?” I said.
“Of course I measured you properly.” Tiffany turned away in a huff. She was probably right. Dad had measured me too … and Mum … and Gran … and the school nurse … even a man with a tape measure in the DIY store.
“There’s nothing to worry about!” I agreed. “I am one point four metres tall!”
But the minute I stepped up to the measuring line, I knew something was wrong.
All my excitement seemed to inside me like a bomb. My toes tingled. There was a sudden dizzy feeling as if I was going to faint. Then a lurch in the pit of my stomach…
It felt as if I was riding already – although I hadn’t even left the queue yet.
I was plummeting towards the ground! Wind whistled past my ears. There was a juddering in my bones.
Other people’s shoulders, arms, legs, knees whooshed by – a blur of colour – as I shot down towards the ground.
High above me I could see the clear red mark of the measuring line, marking the spot where the top of my head had been just a moment earlier.
“Stop!” I cried.
But I went hurtling on.
I was plunging downwards.
I was shrinking! Fast!
I have screamed on a scary ride – not even at the fairground when the big wheel got stuck with me right at the top. But I screamed now. I screamed as hard and loud as I could…
I tried to grab hold of the top of Mum’s boot as I whizzed by. I was shrinking so fast, my ears popped, like they do on an aeroplane.
Then, with one last lurch, it was over. The sinking feeling stopped. My legs crumpled beneath me and I fell flat on my back, my head spinning…
Yikes! As I sat up, a giant snake wriggled past me on the edge of the path. It was twice as long as I was – like a MASSIVE PYTHON!
It took me a moment to realize it was only an earthworm.
Everything around me seemed . The long grass was like a thick jungle and every pebble like a rock. Three ants the size of tigers marched past. I scrambled to my feet and peered up from beneath a giant dock leaf that was like one of those big cafe umbrellas above my head.
High, high above me, Dad was still fiddling with his phone.
“Where’s Violet gone?” he said. His voice sounded as if he was shouting down a long, windy tunnel. “She was standing right beside me a moment ago.”
Mum stopped humming. She opened her eyes and looked around too. “Violet? Where are you?”
“I’m down here!” I cried, jumping up and waving my little matchstick arms in the air. How could this have happened? I wasn’t supposed to shrink! I was supposed to be one point four metres tall… Now I was no bigger than a frozen fish finger!
“HELP!” I hollered. But my voice was as tiny as I was.
Mum and Dad and Tiff didn’t seem to hear me. They were so far above – like giants. giants, who could crush me with a single step.
“LOOK OUT!” I dodged one of Dad’s enormous feet – my head was level with the top of his trainers.
“I bet Violet ducked under the railings,” said Tiffany. “I bet she was too scared to go on the ride after all! What a baby!”
“I may be small,” I roared, “but I am NOT a baby!”
It was scary to have shrunk so fast. I had no idea why it had happened … and no idea if I’d ever grow tall again. But I wasn’t going to cry. No matter what Tiffany said about me. No matter if I never even got to ride on
Violet Potts does not cry! Violet Potts is NOT a baby!
At least the clothes I was wearing had shrunk with me, otherwise I’d have had to make myself an outfit out of leaves or something. I looked down at my tiny doll-size jeans and sweater. I remembered how Tiffany’s favourite blue top had shrunk in the wash. She’d cried for a whole afternoon. Now that’s what I call a real baby!
“Typical Violet to disappear,” Tiffany moaned. “She never does what she’s told.” I leapt sideways as she almost speared me with her high-heeled shoe. (Who wears high heels to a theme park, for goodness’ sake?)
“Come on!” said Mum. “We’ll have to go and look for her!”
“Wait!” I cried, scrambling on to Dad’s trainer. I clung to his laces for dear life as he strode away from the queue.
“Violet’s in big trouble when we do find her!” he said.
“It’s so unfair!” moaned Tiffany. “We didn’t even get to go on the roller coaster.”
Her long, skinny legs stomped past, wearing a miniskirt high above her knobbly knees. “Stop complaining, Stork Legs!” I shouted. “You never even wanted to go on the ride in the first place!”
“I could have been shopping with Monique this morning,” she whined. “She was going to get her ears pierced and I was going to—”
“Where is Violet?” Mum sounded really worried now. “She could be anywhere. Theme parks are very dangerous places, you know.”
Too right! At that moment, Dad stumbled on a stone and I was hurled forward. His back shoe (the one I was riding on) smashed into the front one like a bumper car at full speed. I slammed down hard and thumped my chin against the big, tight knot in Dad’s laces.
“Ow!” This place really was dangerous! A walk up the path was more like a roller-coaster ride for me! Like riding might be. Only now, there was no safety harness and I was
“I’ll go to the Lost Child Tent,” said Mum. “You stay and look around here, Stuart.”
“Right-ho!” said Dad. “Call me on the mobile if you find her.”
“Tiffany, you check the ladies’ toilets.” Mum set off at a sprint. Tiffany headed off pretty fast, too … probably because she remembered there’d be mirrors in the toilet.
I clung on tightly to Dad’s shoe. He stood still, scanning the theme park. I could see the sun glinting off his specs.
“Violet,” he called. “If this is one of your jokes, it is not funny.”
I do like jokes. Just yesterday, I’d put a plastic fried egg on Dad’s laptop. You should have seen his face when he thought there’d be yolk on the keyboard. But now I was tiny, there was no way I was going to muck around. If I got split up from Dad now I’d be lost in the theme park for ever. I might be trampled underfoot, run over by a buggy or drowned in a puddle.
“I’M DOWN HERE!” I yelled, for the hundredth time. My throat was starting to hurt, but it was no good. He still couldn’t hear me.
I’ll have to climb up, I thought. He’ll be able to hear me if I shout right down his ear.
I’ve had plenty of practice at climbing. I’m always playing on the spider’s web at the adventure playground in our park. The soft cotton of Dad’s trousers was much easier to grip than the scratchy nylon rope I was used to. I pulled myself upwards, hand over hand, as I Dad’s leg. Then I clung to a belt loop on his waist.
“Whoo!” It’s a good job I’m not scared of heights. It was a long way back down!
It was still a long way up too! I’d need to haul myself up Dad’s jacket like a rock climber. I’d have to scramble all the way to his shoulder and shout into his ear from there.
Unless I could hitch a ride. I watched as Dad took a slurp of his drink. If only I could jump on to his cup when he lowered it. The next time he lifted it to take a sip, I’d be staring him in the face. He’d have to notice me then!
I balanced my feet on the top of Dad’s belt, spreading my arms as if I were leaping on to the zip-wire at King’s Park.
Dad’s arm whooshed past me as he lifted the cup.
“Geronimo!” I threw myself into the air. For a moment I was flying. Then I caught hold of the bendy straw with both hands, clinging on to it like a rung on the monkey bars.
“Yes!” I swung my feet down on to the rim of the paper cup. I’d done it! I was balancing on the edge of Dad
’s drink like a tightrope walker.
I held my head high (or as high as I could), threw back my shoulders and spread out my arms like aeroplane wings. (Like tiny toy aeroplane wings, at least!)
But just at that moment, Dad shot forward. “Excuse me!” he called out. I was thrown into the air as he ran up to a theme park lady in a yellow jacket. “I’ve lost my daughter. Can you help?”
I only just managed to catch hold of the rim of the cup, my fingers slipping on the damp, shiny paper as I fell.
“She’s got freckles and short brown hair,” said Dad. “And she’s about this tall.” He held out his hand to measure my height – the height I used to be – just above his elbow.
“Hold up your thumb, Dad,” I called, dangling on the inside of the cup. “That’s more the size I am now.”
“Where did you last see her?” asked the theme park lady.
My feet were hanging dangerously close to the ice-filled water beneath me.
“We were in the queue for the roller coaster,” said Dad. “She loves scary rides…”
“But not THIS scary,” I squealed as Dad waved his drink in the air again. Who’d have thought a cup ride could be the thing in the theme park. Scarier even than perhaps?
“We were standing right there!” Dad sloshed his drink forward as he pointed towards the queue.
My fingers slipped. I felt the rim of the cup slide through my grip.
I was winded by the shock of the freezing water.
No! Not water!
Gasping, I swam to the surface of the cup, my nose full of bubbles and my mouth full of … That was SO unfair! Dad had said his drink was “only water”! I dived down for another sip.
Normally, I’d have finished the lot. I lemonade! But now, after just three gulps, my tiny tummy was bulging. I felt bloated and full of enormous bubbles. The lemonade was freezing and my legs began to ache from paddling against the rising fizz.
