by Matt Haig
The troll got cross.
The troll began to shake.
The troll stomped off
And made the ground quake.
The Truth Pixie stopped
And felt quite sad.
Was she nasty like Leena?
Was she really as bad?
The Truth Pixie ran.
‘Troll! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt!
It’s just I see truth
And out it must spurt!
But you should know
That I’m stinky too.
Smell my hair,
It stinks of mouse poo.
And as trolls go,
I hear you’re quite kind.
You give to charity
And have a curious mind.’
But it was too late.
The troll had gone off in a strop.
‘I wish this truth
Would sometimes stop.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Cyril.
‘Truth Pixie, you should lie!’
‘I can’t,’ she sighed.
‘No matter how hard I try.’
While her brother made friends,
The Truth Pixie was rude.
‘How’s your dinner?’ asked the chef.
‘I don’t like your food.’
She offended trolls and elves,
Pixies and a rabbit.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she’d say.
‘The truth is my bad habit!’
The pixie left the party
And went outside.
She said to her mouse,
‘I should go home and hide.’
Meanwhile . . .
Further south, far away,
Aada now had lots of friends
With whom she could play.
Everyone liked her now.
You should have seen her!
‘You’re almost normal!’
Said that girl Leena.
But something felt weird.
Not quite right.
She smiled all day
But cried all night.
One day, her dad
Peeped his head round her door.
‘I miss that pixie.
And I guess you miss her more.’
‘Oh, Dad, I know.
That really is true.
It’s my fault she’s gone.
What should I do?
I’ve been so silly
And I got it all wrong.
I feel like a singer
Who's got no song.
I think of that pixie,
I wonder what she feels.
I miss her at school
And I miss her at meals.
A friend is special,
A friend keeps you warm,
A friend is the ship
That sails you through a storm.
So I want to say sorry,
I want to make it better.’
‘Well,’ said her dad.
‘Why not write her a letter?’
A week after he said this,
Deep in the Far North,
The Truth Pixie
Was pacing back and forth.
She went to see an old friend
Who was testing a toy.
He was called Father Christmas.
She’d known him as a boy.
‘Oh, Father Christmas,
I’m feeling so down.
I lost an old friend
And gained a new frown.’
‘You’re talking about Aada?
Have I got that right?’
‘Yes,’ said the pixie,
Staring out at the night.
‘I thought she was different,
I thought she was kind.
But really she used me
And it saddens my mind.’
Father Christmas sighed.
He felt bad for his friend.
He saw her sadness
And wanted it to end.
‘Listen,’ he said.
‘Aada did something bad,
But if you really think about it,
You know she feels sad.’
The pixie thought,
The pixie sighed,
The pixie felt her sadness
Was ten miles wide.
‘I miss Aada,
I miss her so much,
I wish Aada
Would get in touch.’
Father Christmas smiled.
He could make her feel better!
He went away
And came back with a letter.
‘She wrote to me
At the start of May.
She had lots of things
She wanted to say.’
He gave the pixie the letter
For her to have a look.
And the Truth Pixie read it
Like a favourite book.
The Truth Pixie read this
With a tear in her eye.
And Father Christmas said,
‘It’s okay to cry.
What must happen,
Like ink needs a pen,
Is for you to go back
And make friends again.
She always loved you,
She always had.
She liked it when
You lived with her and her dad.’
So that very night,
Through a sky starry and clear,
The pixie went to Aada
On a flying reindeer.
She landed in her garden
On a warm summer’s night.
‘Thank you, Blitzen.
Thanks for this flight.’
And in the morning,
Aada looked under her bed
Where, expecting nothing,
She found a friend instead.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I was such a silly fool.
The way I treated you
When we were both at school.
I was scared of the others,
Felt left out of their games.
But there’s something worse
Than being called names.
Yes, pixie, I am sorry.
I want you back here,
But I totally understand
If you don’t want to be near.’
The pixie smiled,
And then said what was true.
‘There is nowhere I’m happier
Than right beside you.’
At school the next day,
Aada stood in the yard,
And did something that
She found quite hard.
As her so-called friends
Laughed all around,
Aada spoke so loud
That her words couldn’t be drowned.
‘You can laugh all you want
At my old friend here.
You can laugh at her voice
And her pointy ears.
You can pick on me
And call me things,
For being friends with a pixie
And the joy she brings.
She’s not like you
And she’s not like me,
But she’s something good
That you can’t see.’
‘She’s not normal!’ said Leena.
‘And neither are you.
You’re friends with a pixie who
Smells of mouse poo!’
Aada smiled.
Aada didn’t care,
And nor did the mouse
In her best friend’s hair.
‘You say I’m not normal.
Well, Leena, it’s true.
Aada thought about what she’d been told
All those weeks ago.
She remembered the pixie’s words
And spoke them nice and slow.
The Truth Pixie smiled
And went very red.
It was nice to have a friend
Who said what she said.
But Aada hadn’t finished,
Not quite yet.
&nb
sp; ‘I’m glad,’ she said,
‘Of this friend I have met.
Yes, she can be rude,
Because she says things that are true,
But that’s better than fakeness,
Which comes from some of you.
I want to be friends,
I want us all to get along,
But I’m not ignoring this pixie,
Because that would be wrong.’
The girls and boys heard this,
And some agreed.
In fact, one said,
‘Yes, indeed!
A true friend is great –
There is nothing better.
And I like your pixie,
And I’m happy I’ve met her.’
Of course, there were some
Who didn’t feel the same.
But Aada no longer
Tried to play their game.
‘The thing with bullies,’
The Truth Pixie told her,
‘Is that they’ll feel lonely
When they get older.’
‘I know this, Truth Pixie,
And I know more too.
I know that things are best
With a friend like you.
When you try not to bother
About what people say,
Those people stop trying
To ruin your day.
If people only like you
For being something you’re not,
Then that is a friendship
That’s not worth a lot.
It’s nice to be popular,
If that makes you smile,
But don’t change who you are,
Don’t change your own style.’
These were the things
Aada now knew.
Be happy or sad,
But always be you.
You can be quiet or loud,
Rich or poor,
But when you are true,
Life is so much more.
A friend doesn’t care
About the size of your house.
And that friend can be human,
Pixie or mouse.
A friend may be a rabbit,
A friend may be an elf,
But a friend is a friend
If they like you for yourself
And late at night,
From under the bed,
These were the words
That the Truth Pixie said . . .
‘Well,’ said the pixie,
‘I should thank you too.
There are no better friends
Than me and you.’
‘Yes.’ Aada smiled.
‘I believe you are right.
And now it is time to say . . .
‘'Warm, inspiring and full of good sense’ Daily Express
‘Terrific . . . An instant classic’ Guardian
‘Will melt your Grinch-frozen heart’ Simon Mayo
‘Funny, exciting and full of Christmas charm’ The Week