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The Truth Pixie Goes to School

Page 2

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

 

 

 


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