There once was a girl
Who lived far away,
And who tried to be kind,
Whatever the day.
This girl was called Aada.
She lived with her dad.
She was sometimes happy,
But now she was sad.
She’d had a bad year,
She’d had to move town,
And start a new school,
And wear a new frown.
Her gran had died,
Her dad lost his job.
Aada spent the whole year
Trying not to sob.
But this isn’t a sad story –
Not really, no –
The pixie lived
In Aada’s house,
And in her hair
Was Maarta the mouse.
This pixie slept
Under Aada’s bed,
And Aada trusted
Whatever she said.
You see . . .
And Aada was pleased
That she had such a friend.
She hoped that these days
Would never end.
When the Truth Pixie and Aada
Went into town,
They’d laugh when they saw
Everyone frown.
‘Hello,’ said Aada.
‘We’d like a loaf of bread.’
‘No pixies allowed!’
The shopkeeper said.
‘Well!’ said the pixie.
‘That’s just rude!
Especially when you sell
Such disgusting food!’
Back at home
With Aada and her dad,
She watched the news
But it drove her mad.
‘Why do humans chop down trees
When forests are so fantastic?
And why do you clog your oceans
With all that horrible plastic?’
Aada’s dad sighed.
‘It’s not that simple.’
Aada agreed with the pixie
As she picked at a pimple.
Aada loved the pixie.
They had great times together,
Such as snowball fights
In wintry weather.
Aada told her stories,
Made up in her head,
And the pixie listened closely
To everything she said.
Aada played piano,
The pixie sang along,
And they both laughed happily
Whenever it went wrong.
When Aada was happy,
The pixie was there.
(The best kind of happy
Is the kind you can share.)
And when times were tough,
And when Aada felt bad,
The pixie was there
To make her less sad.
She told Aada the truth,
She told her what was real,
She told her it’s okay
To feel what she feels.
Aada started a new school,
And the pixie came too.
But this school was a place
Where it was hard to be true.
‘Infinity,’ said the maths teacher,
‘Is the largest number ever!’
‘Nope,’ said the pixie.
‘Oh,’ Teacher sighed. ‘So you think you are clever?’
‘Not really,’ said the pixie.
‘But there’s a rabbit called Bangly-Bon,
Who says there’s a number that’s
In a history lesson,
The pixie was amused,
Because history was a subject
That left her confused.
‘It seems strange,’
She told the very strict teacher,
‘That your history
Is full of only one creature.’
‘There are no dogs,
Pixies or even elves.
It seems like humans
Are obsessed with themselves!’
Aada was embarrassed,
And turned bright red,
Every time the pixie
Said what she said.
And outside, later on,
When the lesson was sports,
The pixie was laughed at,
In her silly yellow shorts.
She couldn’t catch a ball
And she couldn’t run fast,
And in every single race
She always came last.
The children thought
The pixie was strange.
They laughed at her difference
And they didn’t like change.
The Truth Pixie didn’t mind,
She really didn’t care.
(And nor did the mouse
Who lived in her hair.)
The trouble was
That Aada did care,
Because the children at school
Would always be there.
There was one girl
Whose name was Leena.
She had cold eyes
And couldn’t be meaner.
She laughed at Aada
And her pixie friend,
So Aada tried to be normal,
But couldn’t pretend.
‘You aren’t normal’ –
That’s what Leena told her.
Aada closed her eyes,
And wished she was older.
Aada was quiet,
Aada couldn’t speak.
Aada’s legs
Felt really weak.
The pixie was there,
And she got really cross.
She had to show this girl
Who was actually the boss.
‘You ask me why
I smell of poo.
It’s ’cos the mouse in my hair
Has got no loo.
And listen, why must you always
Pick on Aada?
Why must you try
To make her life harder?
Pixies aren’t evil,
Pixies aren’t bad.
I hate your lies,
’Cos they make me sad.’
‘Well, you see,
You can’t fix me,
Because I’m an actual
. . . Truth Pixie.
I tell the truth
In what I say.
I tell it at night
And I tell it all day.
And the truth about you,
I can explain fully:
You’re being a nasty,
Insecure bully.
You pick on others
To make you feel better,
Which is like trying to dry
By getting even wetter.
I’ll give you some advice,
I hope you don’t mind.
Leena stared at the pixie
And stamped her feet.
‘You are such a freak!
And you think you’re sweet.
You’re not a human,
You shouldn’t be here,
With your silly voice
And your pointy ears.
I think it’s funny that Aada
Has no friends,
Except a pixie
Whose truth never ends.’
She grabbed the pixie,
Dangled her above the ground,
As Maarta the mouse
Squeaked a frightened sound.
‘Please,’ said Aada,
‘Leave her alone.’
But into the air
The pixie was thrown.
She flew down the corridor
Where Aada couldn’t reach her
And landed in the arms
Of their least favourite teacher.
‘Pixie!’ said the teacher.
‘What are you doing?
‘Ummm, I was flung in the air
By Leena Gruing.’
And from that day on,
Things got even worse.
The Truth Pixie felt less like a friend
And more like a curse.
One day, Aada,
Wishing no one could see her,
Saw there in her path
That bully Leena.
‘Please,’ Aada said,
‘I’ve got to go to class.’
But Leena stood in the way
And wouldn’t let her past.
Aada pushed her and ran
And didn’t look back.
It felt like the whole school
Was on the attack.
People laughed in class,
Ignored her at break.
There wasn’t a single
Friend it seemed she could make.
The Truth Pixie sighed
When she saw this sad stuff,
And wished she could tell Aada
She was more than enough.
‘Oh, Aada, I’m sorry
About these people at school.
I had no idea
Humans could be so cruel.’
‘But it’s the truth,’ said Aada.
‘I really am a bit strange.
I wish I was normal,
I wish I could change.
I wish I could speak
Like the others do.
I wish I could smile
And not look so blue.
I wish I didn’t care about people
Who make me a joke.
I wish we had money
And weren’t so broke.
I wish I had their faces
With their natural smiles.
And I wish I didn’t have thoughts
Like snapping crocodiles.
I wish Mum was still here,
And my gran too.
But I know, at least,
That I still have you.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ said the pixie.
‘That’s good to hear.
But I don’t like to see
Your mind full of fear.
You’re not normal,
That much is true.
But why be normal,
When you could also be you?
If everyone was normal,
All of the time,
Life would be a poem
With only one rhyme.
The best people I’ve met
Were always rather weird,
Like that man Father Christmas,
With his funny clothes and beard.
And the Easter Bunny,
With long ears and silly short legs,
Who gives the world chocolate
That is turned into EGGS!!!’
Aada smiled,
But still looked sad.
The Truth Pixie felt
Really quite bad.
Late at night,
There was no denying,
The sound from the bed
Was the sound of crying.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the pixie.
‘This is all my fault,’
As Aada shed a tear
That tasted of salt.
At school the next day,
The pixie kept out of sight,
So Aada could make friends
And try to put things right.
But it wasn’t that easy,
Not at first.
In fact, for a while,
Aada’s day got worse.
They laughed at her drawings
Of trolls and elves,
Though some felt bad
And ashamed of themselves.
One girl approached, said,
‘I’m sorry you feel sad.
I’d be your friend,
But it’s just . . . my dad.
He says that pixies
Are full of evil powers.
They make the sky dark,
And like to kill flowers.’
The girl walked away,
And Aada felt lonely.
All she wanted was a human friend,
And she thought, ‘If only . . .’
She thought having human friends
Would be like being in a bubble
That could keep her away
From playground trouble.
Maybe the pixie was right,
With the words she had spoken late last night.
Perhaps it was all the pixie’s fault?
With that thought, she stood up with a jolt.
Aada said to the girl
Something REALLY bad.
She said, ‘I’m not friends with the pixie,
That would be mad!’
And the girl stopped,
And turned to say,
‘Well, in that case,
Let’s go and play.’
And Aada went off
With her human friend,
And felt something new start
And something else end.
Nearby, the Truth Pixie
Heard every word.
And wished she could fly away
Like a lonely bird.
‘Aada is better off without me,’
The pixie told her mouse.
‘We should go back home
To our little yellow house.’
So the Truth Pixie left Aada
On April the fourth,
Wrote her a letter
And then travelled north.
It took two hundred days,
And was such a hard trek.
When she got to her old home
She felt quite a wreck.
On her first week back,
She went to see her brother Cyril.
He was super short,
About the height of a squirrel.
They hadn’t spoken for a while,
And Truth Pixie wanted to make amends.
She wanted to know why Cyril
Had three thousand friends.
So she went to his house,
Deep in the trees.
He was having a party
And gave Maarta some cheese.
‘Ah,’ said Cyril. ‘Sister! Sister!
Sister, my dear!
It’s SO good to see you
And to have you here!’
‘Is it?’ she asked.
‘Is that really the case?
I feel like these days
I should be hiding my face.’
‘Of course, Anoushka.
Of course I want to see you.
In fact, you’re so brilliant
I always wanted to BE you.’
‘Anoushka?’ said the Truth Pixie.
She’d forgotten her own name.
She’d always been ‘Truth Pixie’,
And great-aunt Julia was to blame.
But then, at that moment,
Came a whisper in her ear.
It was from an old elf
By the name of Mother Breer.
‘Hello, Truth Pixie,’
Said the wise little elf.
‘Please be careful,
And watch yourself.’
‘Why?’ asked the pixie.
‘What is the matter?’
‘It’s Cyril,’ said the elf.
‘Don’t believe his chatter.
Yes, everyone likes him,
But do you know why?
It’s because everything he says
Is a total lie.
Since the last time you saw him,
He’s become quite peculiar,
And the reason for that
is your great-aunt Julia.
She’s been fooling around,
She’s been rather tricksy,
And now your brother
Is a new kind of pixie!
Like us, now he speaks
Always in rhyme,
But unlike us, he
LIES ALL THE TIME!’
‘A Lie Pixie? A Lie Pixie?’
She began to understand,
As her brother came
And took her hand.
‘Everyone is amazing!
Everyone is great!’
‘Hmmm,’ said his sister.
‘If you lie, they’ll be your mate.’
So she followed him around
As he introduced her to his guests.
More elves than pixies,
Because, he lied, ‘Elves are the best!’
‘Here’s Father Topo,
An elf like no other!
I sometimes wish
He was my brother!’
They went outside,
And Cyril saw a troll.
‘So good to see you!’
And his sister said, ‘LOL!’
Said the troll:
‘I never ’ave been to a party!’
Said the pixie:
‘Perhaps because you smell so farty!’
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.
‘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 . . .
