The Prince and the Troll (Faraway Collection)

by Rainbow Rowell

Trolls live through the telling of tales and the passing on of stories, weaving them together, then letting them flow separately again, as streams, rivers, tree roots, and branches do. —Trolls, by Brian and Wendy Froud

“You’re going to spill your Starbucks,” she said. “It’s your Starbucks,” he said. “Well, then you really shouldn’t spill it.”

“Some people say it’s a waste of money,” he said. “But I always feel like it’s worth it. Small, good things are worth it.”

“Everyone knows you can’t trust princes.” “I’m not a prince.” He may as well be.

She tilted her head. “You think I’m at my most useful when I’m being useful to you?”

“The road goes everywhere you’d want to go. Everywhere you’d think of going. It never ends. And you’re never alone there. And everything you’d ever want is right there on the road.”

“You shouldn’t focus on the bad things,” he said. “Because you draw them toward you. Happiness is about focusing on good things and drawing those things toward you.”

“I brought two Frappuccinos, and before you ask which one I’d pick for myself, they’re both caramel. Because I would pick caramel.” “Hmm.” She stuck out her lower lip. (It wasn’t a surprise; he knew she had lips.) (It was still good, though.) “I like having a choice.” He handed her a caramel Frappuccino. “But you always pick the one I like best.” “That’s part of what makes it delicious! The microaggression.”

“Tragedies just happen sometimes,” he said. (It was what people said after a Tragedy.)

“The worst part of living on the road,” he said, not very evenly, “is that you can’t fall down. If you fall down, you fall off.” No, that wasn’t true. He’d never lied to her. “If you fall down, they push you off. If someone falls, we push—”

“This isn’t easy. This is just another kind of hard. That’s all that’s left now, for any of us.”