Trolls Prequel Novel

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

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?