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this big scary Harper failure, and I’m just saying, what does that look like? What’s the worst thing that happens if the gallery opening is a total and complete bust?”
    “I don’t know.” I never thought about that exactly, I just know that it would have to feel terrible. Right?
    “Okay,” says Poppy. “So let’s say Harper’s Dream Gallery Extravaganza—that’s what I’m calling it until you pick a name, okay?—is a failure. Are we still the best of friends?”
    When I stare at her with an open mouth, she bumps my shoulder harder. “You’re taking too long to answer an obvious question. The correct answer for tonight’s final jackpot prize is YES! Ding, ding, ding! Applause, cheers, a mass of falling confetti.”
    Poppy smiles. “Go with me on this. We’re still friends. Let’s just say everyone else decides they can stand to be in your presence, too, okay? Because you know Trolls aren’t all judgy like that. Ever. So, no lost friends. What else is at stake?”
    “Hmm.” I pause to think. “I want a way to show everyone in Troll Village how creative we all are.”
    “Oh, well. I can see where a gallery would be the single only
possible
way you could ever do that in your life.” Poppy raises her eyebrows, daring me to argue her point. Which I can’t. Obviously, there would be plenty of other ways to do that if this one doesn’t work out the way I want it to.
    “No, probably not,” I admit. “Then why does opening an art gallery feel so scary?”
    Poppy shrugs. “Probably because you aren’t great at it…
yet.
You will be super soon. But right now you’re just used to being great at creating art.”
    I study the ground. “Everything you’re saying makes sense, but it still feels scary. How do I make that feeling go away?”
    “Maybe you don’t,” Poppy says. She gives me a quick hug, then slides down the tree trunk. “New things are always scary. But if you stick to doing the things you’re sure of all the time, you’ll never grow.”
    I wrap my hair around the branch and lower myself to stand next to her. “I think I’ve already achieved all four inches of my maximum height, Pop.”
    Poppy picks a flower and hands it to me. Then she kicks up her foot to tap me lightly on the shin. “I didn’t mean that kind of growing!”
    I twist the stem in my hand. “I know you didn’t. It’s a lot to think about, but I’ll try to keep it all in mind while we look at the rest of the entries. Speaking of which…”
    Poppy follows my eyes to the pod, which is perfectly still and incredibly quiet. “Think he needs help with his display? Maybe he’s worked himself into another crying fit of happy tears and he’s too consumed with it to call for us. Maybe Mr. Dinkles needed an outfit change, and that derailed things entirely.”
    Oh, wow, I hadn’t even thought about that possibility.
    It’s totally adorable to watch Biggie concentrate on fastening the small clips and buttons around the tiny patient friend he loves to dress up.
    It’s also time-consuming, which is what concerns me now. I grab Poppy by the hand and tug her in the direction of the pod. “I’m thinking we need to go investigate what the delay is!”

Poppy
    H alfway through the opening to the pod, we collide with something solid but squishy.
    “Oof!”
I say into Biggie’s belly.
    I sway backward, and then Harper props me up again.
    “Thanks,” I tell her.
    “I was just coming to get you!” Biggie declares, and it’s impossible to miss the hint of pride in his voice. Go, Biggie!
    “Ta-da!”
He steps out of the doorway to reveal the display inside.
    Every single solitary inch of the pod’s massive walls is covered in framed pictures.
    Every. Single. Solitary. Inch.
    A few hundred even dangle from the ceiling by strands of Troll hair.
    “There’s certainly no need to worry about empty walls anymore,” I observe, turning slowly to take in the images.
    Harper does the same, her jaw practically on the floor.
    I