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Back Trollhunters Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. Part I
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. Part II
  19. 11.
  20. 12.
  21. 13.
  22. 14.
  23. 15.
  24. 16.
  25. 17.
  26. 18.
  27. Part III
  28. 19.
  29. 20.
  30. 21.
  31. 22.
  32. 23.
  33. 24.
  34. 25.
  35. 26.
  36. 27.
  37. 28.
  38. 29.
  39. 30.
  40. 31.
  41. 32.
  42. Part IV
  43. 33.
  44. 34.
  45. 35.
  46. 36.
  47. 37.
  48. 38.
  49. 39.
  50. 40.
  51. About the Author

Like someone caught in a burning building, Claire kicked through the railing of her balcony and leapt for the safety of the stage. I think in that moment we all imagined her beautiful body being hopelessly mangled. But Steve stood there as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He adjusted his body to catch her as he had caught endless types of passes in his career, and she swung around in his grip like a ballroom dancer, her arms naturally clasped behind his neck.

There was a final smash as the balcony crumpled to lumber and scattered across the pit.

Everyone stood silent, blinking and panting.

Mrs. Leach knocked a fist to her chest as if beating back cardiac arrest.

Claire looked up at Steve, eyes wide and thankful.

Steve grinned.

My heart sunk.

He was still bouncing the ball with his left hand.

“What noise is this?” Lord Capulet said. “Give me my long-sword, ho!”

Claire laughed the only way she knew how. Steve, understandably surprised by her volume, held her more tightly. Relieved guffaws tore through the assembled cast and crew, and they hung upon each other, delighted survivors of an event soon to go down in Saint B. Theater Department lore.

Roughly twelve years later, from the feel of it, rehearsal ended. I told myself that my foibles had been for the best: trollhunters had no time for school, much less extracurriculars. I told myself to forget about it, go home, hunt trolls, come back the next day, and tell Mrs. Leach first thing that I was quitting.

Removing a pair of tights was a new challenge for me, and by the time I returned to the auditorium I was the only one left. I slipped through the side exit and, once outside, watched Steve suit up and jog across the football field beneath the dead black rectangle of the jumbotron, while the practicing pom-pom squad clacked their Steve Smackers in appreciation. It left me numb. Steve was everything and he had everything. Not only was I no one, but I had no one—not Claire, not Tub, not Dad. The only path forward was to give myself fully to the night.

29.

That evening we began to win. The fragments of my life’s failures—video games left unconquered, hobbies abandoned, sports left to guys much bigger—all perfectly interlocked to supply me with everything I needed as a trollhunter. My whole miserable life, rather than being a waste, felt like it had been training for this.