Trolls Prequel Novel Page 2

  Hmm. I wonder if we could do something with those light effects. I pause for a second to think about the supplies we’d need, but then I quickly snap out of brainstorming mode when I catch sight of Harper’s frown.

  “Look!” I say, rushing over to her, sticking the sign-up sheets right under her nose. “One, two, three, four…” I pause, lick my finger, and separate the top sheet from the one below. I flip to the next page. “…five, six, seven, eight…” I lick my finger again and prepare for more flipping. “Do I need to go on?”

  Harper’s face finally relaxes into a smile. “No, I get it. You’re right; it’s simple math. With this many to choose from, somewhere on that list has to be the exhibit. Thanks, Poppy.”

  I hug her. “Don’t mention it! Now let’s get ourselves all set up. How about in front of that mysterious curtain you’ve got up back there? Which you can feel free to spill the dirt on anytime now…” I pause to see if she’s going to give me any hints, but she just shrugs, a little grin dancing at the corner of her lips. Hmph. Good thing I like a surprise as much as the next Troll.

  I pick right up where I left off. “Or over there, where it’s quietest, so we can hear each other. Ooh! Do you think instead of talking out our opinions for each submission, we should use rating cards?”

  I flip past the sign-up sheets to the next bundle of pages on the clipboard. “I had a little spare time, so I whipped up some options with my scrapbooking supplies. Okay—with this version, we can use a sticker system. Put one heart on this square here for ‘love it, love it, love it’ and two for— Oh, ick, I left the stickers behind in my pod. Okay, doesn’t matter because I also have these cards here, which use flowers to indicate— Why are you laughing at me?”

  Harper smiles and shrugs. “You’re just so…you.”

  I make a goofy face at her.

  “No, I mean that in a good way,” she says. “You’re going to make today really fun, when it could have been so much more stressful. Thanks.”

  “It’s what I do,” I say nonchalantly. When Harper laughs, I grin. “So, should we call in the first Troll or what? Let’s get this party started!”

  “Go for it,” she agrees.

  Eek! This is going to be So. Much. Fun.

  “Hair we go!”

  Poppy

  Harper doesn’t even have to ask me who’s first on the list, because all we have to do is prick up our ears a little to catch the crazy-mad-good harmonica notes drifting into the pod.

  “Cooper,” Harper pronounces.

  “Cooper,” I agree.

  Harper calls toward the entrance. “Come in, Cooper!”

  “Yeah, we won’t bite!” I add. I turn to Harper and whisper, “Although if he brought any treats, I will definitely be chomping down on them.”

  Cooper bends his long neck to pop his head inside the pod, followed by his fuzzy striped neck and torso, and finally his mad-skills dancing legs. Harper smiles at me, then turns her attention to the bouncy Troll in front of us, who is busy tucking his harmonica into his hair.

  “What’s that smell?” Harper asks, and I shoot her a look. “In a good way, I mean.” She turns to Cooper with wide eyes but a cool voice. “Did you bring us your famous treats?”

  She’s attempting to be casual, but she’s no better than I am. The mere thought of one of Cooper’s cupcakes has her subtly wiping a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. I would laugh, but she’s not wrong. He really is a ridiculously talented pastry chef.

  And that’s not the only place where he stands out. Here’s the thing: Trolls are stinking awesome because no two of us are alike. There are short Trolls and shorter Trolls; pink, purple, blue, green, yellow, and orange Trolls. There are Trolls who wear dresses, Trolls who wear vests, Trolls who wear crocheted belly shirts, and Trolls who wear nothing but a healthy dusting of glitter.

  Except we probably have more in common looks-wise than not. Almost all of us have bright shocks of hair that shoot straight out of our heads, and most of us stand on two legs, keeping our arms free for super-epic hugging sessions.

  Not Cooper, though.

  Cooper’s looooooong neck starts where the top of my hair ends. And instead of standing on two feet, he’s on all fours, allowing him to bust out the hip-hoppiest of dance moves. His legs and yarn-rope hair are powder blue, and the rest of him is covered in a full coat of pink-and-red-striped Troll hair, all the way up to the fun little green stitched hat perched on his head.

  But that’s not the best part of him. That would be his wide, toothy grin, which shows off his lovable smile. When he flashes that smile at you, it’s impossible not to smile back.

  Impossible.

  I’ve tried.

  (Well, not really, but if I did try, it wouldn’t work. Fact.)

  “C’mon, Coop, you know there’s something delicious hidden under that hat of yours,” I tease. “Give us a peek, before we’re forced to cart you off to the dungeons.”

  (Let it be known, there are zip-zero dungeons in Troll Village. It isn’t that kind of place at all.)

  Cooper looks perplexed, dipping his head to shake off his hat, and I have to bite my lip to keep my giggle in. His cap bounces softly on the felt floor of the pod, and he rubs the top of his head with one of his feet. “I— Why would I have something hidden under my hat?”

  Silly Coop! I clear my throat and fold my hands in front of me on the table, ready to get down to business. “Well then, Cooper. Without further ado, we hereby cordially invite you to share your entry for consideration as the exhibit with which we’ll celebrate the opening of—”

  I break off and turn to Harper. “Sorry, Harp, but I can’t remember what you decided on for the gallery name.”

  Harper’s face takes on a pinched expression. “I—I don’t—”

  Abort, abort, abort! I can tell the pep-talk effects are starting to wear off and Harper’s restored optimism about the gallery’s fate is hanging by a thread (well, so is the gallery itself, but luckily it’s Troll hair, and there’s nothing stronger on the market). I wave her off quickly. “Never mind. Unimportant. There are a million things to think about at the moment besides that. Like whatever it is Cooper’s got for us. Which is…?”

  Cooper grins and folds his neck to tuck his head inside his fur. He emerges with a wrapped cupcake in his mouth, which he pops onto his foot before extending his leg to me and Harper with an expression of extreme pride.

  “So, just to be clear, when I asked if you were hiding any delicious treats and you said no…” I trail off as Harper retrieves the cupcake from him.

  Cooper’s grin falters. “But you asked if I was hiding any under my hat. And I definitely was not!”

  “Right, of course. Ahem. Well. This looks heavenly. What flavor is it?”

  “That one’s my specialty: Root Beer Cheesecake.”

  Harper quickly unwraps it and takes a bite from one side. At first taste it’s completely obvious that if she weren’t so busy chewing, her jaw would be dropped. “This…is…fan…tastic!” she manages between swallows.

  I don’t need any more invitation than that. I bite into my half and my eyes roll so far back into my head, I’m afraid I might need a search crew to find them again. “I want to marry this cupcake and live happily ever after with it. How did you come up with this flavor?”

  Cooper shrugs. “Root beer’s got a tasty kick. Cheesecake mixed in does the trick.”

  “Well, I, for one, could eat about a hundred more of those. At least.”

  Cooper shrugs again. “Okay.”

  He pulls out his harmonica and sounds three notes, high and clear, which ring through the opening of the pod. The entrance instantly fills with a parade of friendly multilegged critters, each balancing a towering tray of baked goods on its back. There are cookies, cakes, tarts, jams, and, best of all, layers upon layers of cupcakes. CUPCAKES ARE MY FAVORITE!

  The tiny critters spin in a complicated kaleidoscope pattern that makes the display seem alive. When they stop in a series
of rows, there is just enough space between them for a curious and hungry Troll (me! me!) to check out the offerings.

  I jump on top of the table, my eyes bugging out of my head. “Are you telling me these are all for us?”

  Cooper nods and begins walking between the rows, pointing at the goods as he goes. “Tangerine Fudge Brownies.”

  “Tangerine Fudge Brownies!” Harper and I repeat in unison. If my eyes are as bright as Harper’s right now, together we could light the night sky.

  “And here we have French Toast Swirl Danishes with bacon topping.”

  “French Toast Swirl Danishes with bacon topping!”

  I can’t help repeating the names of Cooper’s offerings with delight, and evidently Harper can’t, either.

  “Everything goes better with bacon,” Harper adds.

  “Everything,” I murmur in agreement.

  “And then these are Lemon-Lime Gingerroot Boysenberry Popsicle Explosion Muffins,” Cooper says.

  “Lemon-Lime Gingerroot…,” I begin, but the wondrousness overtakes me and I trail off, looking to Harper for help.

  “Boysenberry?” Harper is tentative.

  “Popsicle Explosion Muffins,” Cooper finishes smoothly.

  “Whatever you said, I SAY YUM!” I grab one and bite a giant chunk off the top. Hea-ven-ly.

  “Best breakfast ever,” Harper says, holding two brownies in one hand and a Danish in the other.

  “Oh, and don’t forget to try the Horseradish Coconut Macaroons.” Cooper gestures to a tray at the far end of the row.

  Harper and I stop chewing and glance at each other.

  “Oh. Um. Those sound…delicious. Really. But, uh, I have my”—Harper casts her eyes around desperately—“hands full! Very full.”

  She slips her arms behind her back and quickly collects as many cupcakes as she can in her fists before producing them for Cooper to see.

  Drat! She beat me to that idea. No worries. Plan B.

  “And I have my mouth full,” I say, stuffing in seven tarts at once and trying to close my lips around them. “Mffllly fllll,” I manage. I make panicky eyes at Harper as I struggle to take a breath around all the pastries.

  Harper thrusts a sheet of felt at me the second Cooper turns away. It catches the crumbs falling from my lips as I work to finish the tasty treats. I hope that piece didn’t have anything critically important on it, like our schedule for today. I tuck it off to the side, all crumpled and crumb-filled, in case we need it later.

  With my mouth now empty, I whisper, “Yikes!” at Harper, who giggles.

  We both go back to oohing and aahing over all the baked goods (aside from the Horseradish Coconut Macaroons, that is, because I’m really not so sure about those). Once we’ve seen and/or sampled everything, we slide around to the other side of our table and I spread out the rating cards.

  “Cooper, would you mind gathering up your displays while we discuss your entry?” Harper asks.

  Cooper nods happily and sounds his harmonica again to lead the parade back out of the pod. Meanwhile, I glance around to make sure no one is paying attention. As a waddling critter passes by, I tuck one last Tangerine Fudge Brownie into the side of my mouth.

  I try to keep my chewing to a minimum as I lean my head into Harper’s.

  “Soooo? What do you think? You tried those French Toast ones, right?”

  “With the bacon? Of course.”

  “If I had remembered my stickers, those would have won ten rainbows for SURE!”

  “They were delicious,” says Harper.

  “See? Told ya we weren’t going to have any problems finding an exhibit for your gallery. Right off the bat, we have a serious contender.”

  I pause when I see the expression on Harper’s face. “What? You didn’t love them?”

  Harper scrunches up her nose. “I did. They really were great. It’s just…”

  “Just?” Cooper’s baked goods would have any Troll in Troll Village turning cartwheels. So why doesn’t Harper look more excited? Did she sample one too many Root Beer Cheesecake Cupcakes and get a stomachache? Because otherwise, she should be blissful right now.

  She sighs. “It’s just that…I know cooking is an art form. I really do get that, and I totally admire it as one. Cooper’s flavors are creative, no doubt. And he’s a top-notch pastry chef. But when I think about what I want as a showstopping exhibit—the very first in my gallery, well…” She pauses and turns her troubled eyes to me. “I know I want an unbelievable opening night, but I’d kind of like something to remain of it by the end of the evening. I’m not so sure edible is part of my vision.”

  I swallow the last of my brownie. “O-kay. Well then, what is on that list?”

  “That’s the problem! I don’t know, exactly. I guess I was hoping maybe it would be one of those ‘I’ll know it when I see it’ situations.”

  Poor Harper. Her expression is borderline miserable. I have to figure out a way to help her. Which I can do. I will do. So it isn’t going to be as easy as I imagined. No worries. A challenge just makes the reward that much sweeter. Er, maybe that was the wrong choice of words, given the sugar attack we’re both currently fighting off.

  “Well, I guess I can’t argue with the artiste,” I say. “You definitely know more about this stuff than I do. But I’m going on the record as saying I’m awarding Cooper’s entry twenty enthusiastic thumbs up.”

  I scribble exactly that on my rating card before securing it to the back of the clipboard. I’m optimistic that Harper will reconsider Cooper’s entry before this is all over. In the meantime, I cross the pod to speak to Cooper.

  “Super-awesome job, Coop. We’ll be in touch by the end of the day to announce our winning entry. Thanks again for bringing us such scrumptious treats!” I lean close and whisper, “Any chance I can have a few extras? It’s going to be a long day of exhibit-selecting.”

  Cooper grins his sweet smile and sneaks me a solid dozen cupcakes.

  “Thanks, Cooper!” Harper calls, waving. Her head is down as she pores over the clipboard.

  Cooper waves back before escorting the last of his critters out the door with a cheerful “See ya later!”

  I slide back over to the table and tuck the tray of cupcakes beside my bag.

  “What?” I ask when I see Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. “They’re for later, in case we get hungry. Don’t give me that look—I got enough for you, too.”

  Harper rolls her eyes, then pats the mushroom stool next to her and takes a deep breath. “Help!” she says.

  “On it,” I reply. “Repeat after me: I’m hopeful, I’m optimistic, I’m one with the universe.”

  “I’m hopeful, I’m optimistic, I’m one with the universe,” Harper echoes. Her voice isn’t quite as steady as mine, but that’s okay. Baby steps. My work here is just beginning.

  I take another deep breath, motioning to Harper to do the same. “Okay, that’s our mantra, and we’re sticking to it. We’ve got this.”

  I wait for Harper to nod before I open my mouth and yell, “Next!”

  Harper

  Poppy is always fun to be around, but one of the more entertaining things about her is how big she can open her mouth when she wants to be heard. So when she drops her jaw and belts out, “Next!” I’m not the least bit surprised when it echoes through the rustling tree branches.

  Not surprised, but definitely amused.

  And yet…nothing happens.

  I peek over Poppy’s shoulder. “Where’s the clipboard? Who’s signed up for this time slot?”

  She closes her mouth and squints at the sheet. “DJ Suki.”

  “Oooooooh,” we both say at once.

  Makes sense.

  “I’ll bet she’s right outside,” I tell Poppy. “I’ll go get her.”

  She nods. “I’d bet that DJ Suki is blasting a musical mash-up through her headphones.”

  She’s right about that.

  Harper = art. DJ Suki = music. It’s her life.

 
Suki can always be counted on to lay down a beat-tastic interlude on any appropriate occasion, which is basically every occasion in Troll Village.

  Sure enough, when I poke my head out of the gallery to investigate, that’s exactly what DJ Suki is doing. She’s bopping around the clearing, totally absorbed in whatever tunes are surging through her yarn-wrapped headphones.

  I wave my arms to get her attention but have no luck. After a few fruitless seconds of manic arm-flailing, I give up and pop out into the sunlight. I slip down the tree trunk to tap my friend on the shoulder from behind.

  She jumps at least eleven feet into the air. Whoops!

  Luckily, when she drops back down, she lands perfectly in my hair, which I’ve swished into a net, and I only a stumble backward a little bit, then use my locks to lower her gently to the ground.

  DJ Suki nudges one ear free from the head-phones. “You scared the hair off me!”

  Not true. She’s definitely still got her orange-felt dreadlocks, which are swooped up into a beehive ponytail and held in place with a single purple band.

  DJ Suki is nothing if not stylish. Her electric-pink skin is the perfect backdrop for wrists full of jangly bangle bracelets and a jeweled belly button, not to mention her funky crocheted crop top and cut-off pants. I highly approve of her whole look, which is happy and energetic, just like her beats.

  I cringe. “Sorry, Suk. I did try to get your attention other ways first.”

  She blinks up into my eyes. “No worries, Harper!”

  “You’re up, if you want to show us what you brought to display.”

  I glance around the clearing a little more now, and I can’t keep my forehead from wrinkling because I don’t notice anything there other than, well, my friend. “You did bring something, right?” I ask.

  DJ Suki pats her hair. “Everything I need is right here.”

  I relax. I don’t know what she’s hiding in there, but I’m more than prepared to be wowed.

  We enter the pod to find Poppy eagerly waiting. (Well, and also sneaking a snack or two from the tray of Cooper’s treats she’d tucked aside for “later.” Technically speaking, it is later, I guess.)