The waiting was unbearable. Neville stood in the corner of the stage while Rubella scuffed backwards and forwards, murmuring to herself. Everyone was keen to find out who was in the pan-troll-mime and which unlucky fuzzbonks didn’t make the cut.
‘Come on,’ Rubella grumbled. ‘Hurry up.’
Neville looked at his troll-sister and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the great big lardy-lumper. She was desperate to be the grumptious stepsister.
‘It’s all right,’ Neville said, as Rubella trudged past. ‘I’m sure it won’t be much longer.’ At least he hoped it wouldn’t. The longer Rubella had to wait, the grumpier she got, and if it turned out to be bad news … Neville gulped. He didn’t want to think about it.
Suddenly, the troll-girl who’d balanced a fridge on the end of her nose jumped up and pointed. ‘LOOK!’
Everyone turned to see what was happening.
Abominatia swished her way round the back curtain and smiled at everyone with the kind of smile you’d give someone who didn’t realize they had food dribbling down their chin. It was a mixture of pity and disgust.
‘Ladies and gentlegeorges,’ she said, brandishing a scrap of paper. ‘Here are the results of the pan-troll-mime auditions.’
Neville watched as the troll-skeleton walked over to the side of the stage and pinned the paper to the wall with a rusty nail.
‘Goodly luck,’ she sneered, and swished off back behind the curtains.
‘Quick!’ Rubella snapped at Neville as everyone jumped up and crowded towards the notice. Neville darted ahead and reached it before anybody else.
‘What’s it say, Nev?’ Rubella shouted above the din of trolls scrabbling over each other.
Everyone went silent as Neville pulled the paper off the wall and cleared his throat.
‘Ahem … um …’ Neville really wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, but he looked down at the paper nonetheless and read aloud:
‘Whingerella – Who cares?
The Narra-troll – Bowel Bumble
The Furry Bog-mother – Gristle Pilchard
The Prince – Thicket Ulcer-tooth’
‘Totally grotsome,’ shouted Thicket, punching the air and jumping. ‘I knew it!’
‘How chuffly,’ cried Gristle Pilchard. Neville couldn’t see her, but he could just about make out her walking stick waving in the air near the back of the group. ‘Congruntulations, Bowel!’
‘Squibbly,’ Bowel shouted back. He hobbled out of the group and did a little bow. ‘I’ve never been a narra-troll before!’
‘Who else?’ shouted Rubella. ‘Who’s the grumptious stepsister?’
Neville glanced down the list, found where it said ‘Grumptious Stepsister’ and froze. Oh no! Gruntilda’s name had been written next to the part. Rubella was going to be so angry.
‘WHO IS IT, NEV?’
Neville could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Things couldn’t get any wor–
Before he’d even had time to think Things couldn’t get any worse, they did. His entire body started to tremble as he spotted Rubella’s name at the bottom of the list – and saw the role she’d been given in the pan-troll-mime.
Without a second’s thought, Neville dropped the paper on the ground and RAN!
