by Jen Malone
DreamWorks Trolls © 2016 DreamWorks Animation LLC. All Rights Reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, 1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019, and in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto, in conjunction with DreamWorks Animation LLC. Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
randomhousekids.com
ISBN 9780399557477 (trade) — ISBN 9780399557484 (lib. bdg.) ebook ISBN 9780399557491
v4.1
ep
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One: Paint Splatters and Caterbus-Fluff Mustaches
Chapter Two: Approximately 6,923 Stickers, Give or Take
Chapter Three: A Poppy-Patented Pep Talk (Try Saying That Ten Times Fast)
Chapter Four: All Involved Agree: Everything Goes Better with Bacon
Chapter Five: An Exhibit You Can’t See
Chapter Six: The Dance Party Goes On and On and On and On…
Chapter Seven: A Really Big(gie) Troll and Buckets of Tears
Chapter Eight: Paper-Crimpers and Sawing Logs
Chapter Nine: Squishy Bellies and Missing Worms
Chapter Ten: Swedish Death Metal and Crocheting
Chapter Eleven: Trolls Stack Up to the Ceiling
Chapter Twelve: The Violet Ruffled Pantsuit
Chapter Thirteen: The Bird’s-Nest Hat, or Is It a Fascinator?
Chapter Fourteen: TONS AND TONS of Glitter
Chapter Fifteen: Even More Glitter. And More and More and More and…
Chapter Sixteen: The Pen-Stained Tongue
Chapter Seventeen: Deep, Deep Thoughts
Chapter Eighteen: Brushes with Paint and Brushes with Destiny
Chapter Nineteen: Poppy Does Something for the First Time Ever, EVER
Chapter Twenty: The (First) Big Reveal
Chapter Twenty-one: The Second, Third, and Fourth Big Reveals
Harper
I add one final, final touch—a swoosh of teal on the king’s vest—to the portrait using the very tip of my hair as a paintbrush, because why not? When you have hair as incredible as a Troll’s, it’s kind of amazing how many uses you can find for it.
“King Peppy Looking Rad in Yarn. I think that should be your title,” I tell the painting, taking a step back to admire it in its full glory. I made my depiction of our intrepid leader from braided yarn, paint, and Caterbus fluff (which captures his substantial mustache pretty impressively, I have to admit).
Not bad, Harper. Not bad at all.
A happy fizziness bubbles in my belly, just like it always does when I finish a new piece.
Time to hang this one up. I shouldn’t have taken the past fifteen minutes to finish it, because I’m already running late to meet my best friend, Poppy, but I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes my paintings just speak to me.
Harrrrrrrper, come play with us!
And, being a true artiste (which is exactly like an artist, but I think it sounds way cooler and more important), I have no choice but to listen.
Besides, it’s part of the BFF code, to forgive and forget, so I’m pretty confident Poppy will cut me some slack if I’m running just a few minutes behind schedule. She’ll understand. Everyone in Troll Village will understand, because they all get it that art is my calling. My jam. It’s the thing that makes me…me.
I step forward again and grip the sides of the painting. I should probably give it a chance to dry completely first, but I’m running so late already and since I’m always hair-to-toe paint splatters anyway (other than my smock, which is spotless—go figure), I’m not sure it makes much difference.
Paint splatters are my signature look, I guess. Poppy likes to tell me I have the whole Roy G. Biv thing going on, with my hair being every color of the rainbow and because I’m always covered in every shade of paint. What’s a few more?
I stretch my fingertips to reach the edges of the canvas.
Twenty years ago, King Peppy led all the Trolls from the Troll Tree to Troll Village to save our lives, and I really wanted to honor his importance by making my portrait of him as lifelike as possible. So I painted him to scale, which means the picture is as tall as me.
The walls of my pod are chock-full of cheerful landscapes of Troll Village and bright collages of my friends, and of course the only empty spot would have to be all the way across the room. I hope I don’t trip over any of my three-dimensional dioramas as I go…or the braided rug I wove from natural fibers last week.
“I could…sure…use…an…assistant!” I huff through deep breaths as I struggle under the weight of it. My hypothetical assistant would preferably have strength to spare, like my friend Smidge, so I wouldn’t have to hoist paintings up to their hanging spots like this. Oof!
I glance at my potted flower on the windowsill. “What do you think? Is this my best piece yet?”
Flower doesn’t talk back.
He sings!
First he unfolds his petals, then he lets loose a high-pitched “Boom-chicka-rocka!” that makes me giggle.
“Thanks,” I reply.
I finally get the painting into place right next to one I did of Mr. Dinkles, a tiny pet worm my friend Biggie totally dotes on. I take a second to straighten the frame so it hangs evenly.
“Voilà!” I announce. Flower dances happily along the sill, and when his petals shimmy to the left, a spot of morning sunlight hits the floor of my pod. It must be even later than I thought.
Whoops! I’ve got to finish getting ready! The happy, melodic sounds of Troll Village outside my pod provide a fun energy boost for all the Trolls out there bustling about their day already. I can’t wait to be part of it all.
I love everything about Troll Village. It’s completely magical, all neon-bright and sinkably soft, and we’re tucked away cozy and safe in a sun-splashed clearing deep in the woods. The whole place is so deliciously fuzzy it practically demands petting, from the cheerful, fluffy flowers on the fuzzy carpet of ground to our plush, multicolored felt pods that dangle from tree branches on super-strong strands of Troll hair.
Oh, and Troll Village is always pulsing with dance music.
Yep, dance music.
Because that’s how we Trolls roll.
When we’re not busting a move, we’re zip-lining along the tree branches or zooming down the chutes winding around the trunks or just generally whooshing from place to place.
Or hugging. Always with the hugging, because it’s basically our favorite thing to do.
The sights, sounds, and textures (and hugs) of Troll Village are a nonstop explosion for the senses. But it’s the colors that make the whole place really POP and make it even more perfectly perfect if you happen to be an artiste. Like me. Troll Village is full of vibrant hues any artist would go dizzy over.
And I really, really do.
The thing is, when you’re so full of love for something, you mostly just want to share that feeling with everyone, and that’s what today’s all about. Getting me one step closer to doing exactly that.
“Today’s the day, Flower,” I tell him as I adjust the canvas so King Peppy is perfectly balanced, and then put my supplies away. His petals dance in reply, because today is the day when Poppy and I pick the perfect, beyond-any-Troll’s-expectations, dazzle-your-hair-off opening exhibit for my new gallery.
That’s right. Harper, artiste Troll, is about to become Harper, artiste Troll slash owner of Troll Village’s newest business venture, a brand-new pop-up art gallery.
“I am so jazzed. Okay, well, I am so jazzed(ish) because the thing is…I’m kind of uncertain,” I tell my faithful companion, who wraps his leaves
around his stem and sings, “Tra-la-la-la-la.”
“Very helpful,” I reply. Then he uses his petals to gesture at my paintings on the walls. I shake my head. “No. I want the gallery to include so much more than just my art. One of the meanings of art is that it can be used to raise awareness, and I want every Troll in Troll Village to come away from a visit awed by the realization of just how much creativity there is all around us.”
I’m not sure my flower friend can understand any of this. To be honest, I’m not sure I do. I have all these ideas for what I want the gallery to mean to everyone, but an annoying lack of ideas for how to achieve that.
I imagine my gallery being like this magical box that opens on a chorus of Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhs, accompanied by a blinding glow from within. I know it can be really great. It’s just…how exactly?
I picture the opening reception, with big, sweeping arcs of lights crisscrossing the sky to let every Troll know something special has arrived. And actually, a lot of the advance preps are already under way for the big gala, except for one teeny-tiny detail.
Okay, possibly a big one.
Probably the biggest.
My gallery is…empty.
No mind-blowing exhibit to make everyone’s jaws drop, no masterpiece to get them buzzing, no—
No…anything. No art at all.
“What if I can’t pull off my vision?” I say to Flower, who droops low in sympathy. “What if I can’t ever figure out my vision? What if I can’t find that one perfect, show-stopping showcase, be-all and end-all, crème de la—”
A squeal of laughter outside interrupts my thoughts and brings me back to the moment.
“Whoops!” I wrinkle my nose. “If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be way more than fashionably late to meet Poppy!”
If anyone can help me get my head straight about this, it’s Poppy. She’s never met a problem she couldn’t solve. And solve cheerfully. She’s exactly who I want by my side to figure out my “need an exhibit ASAP” dilemma once and for all.
I grab my camera and my sketchbook and one or two—okay, five—tubes of paint. Not because I expect I’ll have a lot of downtime for drawing or painting today, but because having stuff on me to create with whenever inspiration strikes is comforting. I tuck everything into my hair and spin toward the entrance of my pod.
“See you later,” I call to my flower friend, who hums a reply.
I step into the opening of my pod, all set to greet the day, the pulsing music, and all of Troll Village, when—
Huh?
Harper
My nose is the first part of me to clear the doorway, and it gets a pretty sticky surprise. It bumps into an envelope, which is hanging from the branch above my doorway.
Approximately 143 percent of the envelope is covered in stickers, and a couple of them are peeling at the edges.
“Oof!” I hop back and swat at the air, batting the envelope free and catching it with a lock of my hair just before it flutters to the ground.
I hold it up and peer at the decorations. There are cupcake stickers and rainbow stickers and flower stickers. And cupcake-with-a-side-of-rainbow stickers, and rainbows-covered-in-flowers-and-cupcakes stickers and flowers-the-color-of-rainbow cupcakes stickers.
That’s not all. When I shake it just a little, the envelope ba-dum-dums.
I know exactly who this is from. I slide a finger underneath the tiniest bit of white edge poking out in one corner and gently peel the bottom layer of rainbow/cupcake/flower stickers until I can reach the contents. The whole thing erupts into an elaborate 3-D design of cut paper that forms the words YOU’RE INVITED! Naturally, the invite is accompanied by a catchy jingle that spills out across the trees and mingles with the happy tunes already in the air.
I grin. I don’t have to read the attached sheet fluttering free to know who it’s from, but I peek anyway.
Yo, Harper!
What in the hair are you still doing at home reading this? Hop on a Caterbus and zip on over to your gallery, where you are cordially invited to join me in selecting the most fantabulous, the most splendiferous, the most perfectly perfect art exhibit ever! BYOA! (In case you forgot, this means Bring Your Own Awesome.) See ya soon!
Love and hugs,
Poppy
No surprise there. Poppy is mildly obsessed (in a good way) with anything related to scrapbooking and invitation-making. I’m fairly positive if her father, King Peppy, ever crowns her queen, every step of every day will be accompanied by elaborately decorated invitations. Such as:
1. Waking up. “You are hereby invited to open your eyes, though how you’ll read this request to do so without having already opened them does present a bit of a conundrum!”
2. Getting out of bed. “Kindly join in by untucking yourself from your cozy covers and placing both feet on the ground!”
3. Stretching for a morning dance session. “Your presence is requested…at the mirror. Please RSVP ASAP to your dancing feet, who eagerly await your reply.”
To be honest, I’m not that positive the princess hasn’t created invitations for these very things. Which I applaud. Creative expression at its finest.
There’s another thing Poppy’s right about. What am I still doing at home? There’s work to be done—lots of it—if I want my gallery to open without a hitch. And wow, do I want that.
This time there are no obstacles in my way as I slip through the circular opening in my pod and straight onto the tufted leaves of the tree. I sink in only slightly before tumbling onto my very own slide, which winds and curves me around the trunk and deposits me—with a tiny hop on my part—onto the top of a velvety mushroom cap. I jump down onto a carpet of fuzzy grass.
Before I even have time to look around for one, a yellow-and-green-striped Caterbus, all silken hair and multiple, fast-moving legs, wanders by, and I hop aboard the transport.
I swivel my head left to right as we go, taking in my amazing village. The bright sun shines spotlights through the trees onto the Trolls swinging about on their hair, singing through their day. Flowery blossoms, leafy leaves, and vibrantly colored Troll pods sway gently in the breeze. A kaleidoscope of happy hues greets me wherever my head turns. Every last inch of Troll Village induces happiness. My gallery will add even more! It just has to. I really, really can’t let anything stand in the way of that.
Poppy
Harper’s gallery is like, whoa!
Or at least it will be, just as soon as we get through with it. At the moment it’s a little, well…
Empty.
What I can see of it, anyway, since the entire back wall of the enormous pod is hidden by a big, billowy curtain with an UNDER CONSTRUCTION sign taped to it.
I itch for my scrapbooking supplies—I can practically hear it crying out for stickers. Help me, Poppy! I need BeDazzling!
The same way the blue walls of this pod are calling out for more. They’re a pretty blue; don’t get me wrong. They’re somewhere between the cornflower blue of my headband and the early-morning-sky blue of the eyelet dress I’m wearing. But they could also use dashes of warm summer greens and sticky gumdrop yellows and fruit-ripened reds and passionate purples and a plethora of pinks to rival my own color, and more and more and more, until there’s not a single, solitary spot that doesn’t scream “Fun!”
“Poppy? Are you in here?”
I stop, slowly spinning in place to take in the entire gallery, then turn toward Harper’s voice.
“Sure am!” My words bounce around the cavernous space, and I chase after them as I rush to greet Harper in the doorway. “Harper, this whole place is WOW! I can’t believe you envisioned all of it in your head and now you’re bringing it to life before our eyes!”
I wait for my friend’s face to light up, but instead she bites her lip and her eyes dart around the pod.
“Do you really think it works?” Harper asks, and I catch a note of doubt in her voice.
Oh, this needs fixing fast. What the situation requires is a Poppy-patented
pep talk, pronto. Luckily, I’m almost as good at those as I am at scrapbooking.
I pop my fists onto my hips. “Harper! Are you kidding me? You’re following your biggest dream in the whole world—of course it’s gonna be perfect! You had the exact vision for what you wanted, and just look!”
I fling my arms wide to indicate the enormity of what she’s already done. “All this place needs are some final touches, and your gallery will knock out all of Troll Village at next week’s opening! The gala’s going to be the biggest thing to happen since…since…well, I can’t even think of a since, because that’s how enormously big it’s going to be! Every single Troll in the village will be here!”
Harper tugs at her earlobe and grimaces. “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of. That means every single Troll in Troll Village could be a witness to my failure. It’s a lot of pressure. What if I can’t pull it off?”
I can’t even. How can she not see how amazing she is? “What exactly are you worried about, Harp?”
She sighs. “That I won’t find the perfect exhibit to wow everyone.”
“We,” I reply breezily.
“Huh?”
“You mean that we won’t find the perfect exhibit, which we will, since that’s what I’m here for today. To help. I’m not going to let this opening be anything less than perfect, since that’s exactly what you deserve. Plus, not finding an exhibit isn’t even a possibility, because we have a zillion Trolls signed up to show off their creations today. Wait here!”
I put up my hand to tell her to stay there while I run across the pod to the opposite wall. Then I grab the clipboard I tucked underneath a mushroom stool I dragged in here earlier. The jewels I used to decorate the back of it capture the light pouring in from the open door of the pod and send twinkling sparkles onto the ceiling.
