Matilda walked to the barn with a clear blue sky above her. It was her eighth day in Wattle Creek, and the rain from yesterday was gone.
The ground was soft, with puddles sparkling in the sunlight. She wore her muddy jeans and Uncle Ben's big, floppy shirt.
Her sneakers squished with every step, making a funny noise. She felt different today—kind of light, but nervous too.
Her mind kept going back to yesterday's rain rescue with Jack. They'd saved the wombat statue, laughed in the mud, and sat close in the barn.
Her hand had brushed his, and it didn't feel bad. It made her a little scared, though, thinking about it.
Jack was already at the barn, fixing the tarp on the frame. He looked up when she got close.
"Hey," he said, his voice friendly. "You dry now?"
"Mostly," Matilda said, dropping her backpack by the barn door. It landed with a thud in the dirt. "You?"
"Yeah," he said, giving her a big grin. "No swamp monster today."
"Shut up," she said, but she couldn't help smiling.
His teasing wasn't mean—it was kind of fun. She grabbed a paintbrush and started painting the frame.
The wood was okay, just a few loose bits from the storm. They worked quietly for a while, the sun warm on their backs.
Birds chirped in the trees nearby, making little happy sounds. It was calm, but Matilda's stomach kept doing flips.
She didn't understand why it felt so weird inside her.
They painted for about an hour. The frame was looking better, with bright red paint covering the rough spots.
Matilda's hands were sticky with paint, and she wiped them on her jeans. They were already messy, so it didn't matter.
Jack sat down on an old tire and pulled out a water bottle. "Want some?" he asked, holding it out.
"Sure," she said.
She plopped down next to him, her legs tired. She took a sip. The water was cold and tasted good after all that work.
She handed the bottle back, and their fingers touched for a second. Her face got hot, and she looked away quick, staring at the ground.
"You okay?" Jack asked, tilting his head.
"Yeah," she said fast. "Just, um, tired."
"Me too," he said, stretching his arms. "That storm wore me out."
"Same," she said, picking at a splinter on the tire.
It was rough under her fingers. She didn't know why she felt so shy.
"Thanks for the jacket yesterday," she added, her voice quiet.
"No big deal," he said, shrugging.
He leaned back, looking up at the sky. It was so blue, not a cloud anywhere.
"You were pretty cool out there, you know," he added.
"Cool?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I was a total mess."
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "You didn't give up, even when it was crazy. That's cool."
Matilda shrugged, feeling her cheeks get warm again.
"Had to," she said. "Didn't want to start all over."
"Still," he said, looking at her. "You're not what I thought you were."
"What'd you think?" she asked, curious now.
He grinned. "Some stuck-up city girl. All fancy and weak."
"I'm not fancy," she said, frowning. "And I'm not weak."
"I know," he said, his voice softer. "Not anymore."
She looked at him, and his eyes weren't teasing—they were kind. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn't breathe right.
She didn't know what to say, so she just sat there, her hands twisting in her lap.
"You're not what I thought either," she finally said, her voice small.
"What'd you think?" he asked, leaning closer.
"Rude country boy," she said, trying to sound tough. "All sheep and dirt."
He laughed, a loud, happy sound. "Guess I am that sometimes. But there's more to me too."
"Yeah," she said, giving him a little smile.
They sat there, the sun getting higher in the sky. Matilda's heart was beating fast, like it wanted to jump out.
She kept looking at him—his messy hair, his hands with dried paint, his goofy grin. She didn't want to like him.
He was annoying sometimes. But she did like him, just a little, and it made her nervous.
"Let's walk," Jack said, standing up and brushing dirt off his pants. "Break time."
"Okay," she said, getting up too.
Her legs felt wobbly, but she followed him down a path behind the barn. It was a narrow trail, with grass poking up everywhere.
It led to a big gum tree, tall and wide, with white bark peeling off like paper. The leaves moved in the breeze, making a soft sound.
They sat under it, the shade cool on their faces. Matilda leaned against the rough trunk, feeling the bark dig into her back.
Jack sat close, pulling at bits of grass with his fingers.
"Nice spot," she said, looking around.
The tree was huge, like it had been there forever.
"Yeah," he said. "I come here sometimes. It's quiet."
"Better than the barn," she said, picking up a leaf and twirling it.
"Way better," he said, smiling at her. He looked at her for a long time. "You ever miss Sydney?"
"All the time," she said, thinking of home. "My friends, my room, the noise."
"Thought you hated noise," he said, tilting his head.
"Not city noise," she said. "It's alive. This place feels so dead."
"It's not dead," he said, shaking his head. "Just slow. You'll get it one day."
"Maybe," she said, but she wasn't sure.
She didn't want to argue, though. Sitting here with him was nice. Too nice. It made her feel funny, like she was floating.
Jack tossed a stick into the grass.
"I meant it," he said. "About surfing. I'm gonna do it one day."
"Good," she said, nodding. "You should."
"You could come," he said, looking at her. "I'd teach you."
"I'd drown," she said, laughing.
The idea of her on a surfboard was silly.
"Nah," he said, his voice serious. "I'd save you."
She looked at him, and his eyes were steady, locked on hers. Her breath got stuck in her throat. She didn't know what to say.
The air felt heavy, like before a storm. She moved a little, and her shoulder bumped his. He didn't move away, and neither did she.
"Matilda," he said, his voice so soft it gave her chills.
She turned to him. He was close—way too close. His face was right there, only inches away.
She saw the freckles on his nose, a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Her heart was pounding so loud she thought he might hear it.
"What?" she whispered, her voice shaky.
He didn't say anything. He leaned in, slow, like he was giving her time to pull away. She didn't. She couldn't move.
His lips touched hers, warm and soft, like nothing she'd ever felt. She froze for a second, then kissed him back, her eyes closing.
It was quick, kind of clumsy, and over fast. He pulled back, his eyes big and surprised.
"Sorry," he said quick, his voice all nervous. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay," she said, her voice wobbling.
Her face was burning, and her head felt dizzy. She kissed him. She kissed Jack. It was so weird, and her thoughts were all jumbled.
"You sure?" he asked, looking worried.
"Yeah," she said, nodding fast.
She stood up, brushing her jeans even though they weren't dirty.
"I—I need to go," she added.
"Matilda—" he started, getting up too, his hands reaching out.
"I'm fine," she said, stepping back. "Just… need some air."
Her legs felt like jelly. She ran back to the barn, her sneakers slipping a little. Her lips were tingling, like they remembered him.
She grabbed her backpack, swinging it over her shoulder, and kept going, down the path to Uncle Ben's house.
She heard Jack call her name, his voice far away, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.
When she got home, she slammed the door shut and flopped onto her bed. Her heart was still racing, like it wouldn't calm down.
She touched her lips with her fingers, feeling where he'd been. It was so strange. She didn't know what it meant.
She liked kissing him—way too much—and that scared her a lot. She wasn't supposed to like Jack.
He was a pain, a loud country boy who bugged her. But he wasn't, not really. Not anymore.
She stared at the ceiling, her eyes wide. The kiss kept playing in her head—his face so close, his breath warm, the gum tree's shade.
She wanted to run back and yell at him for making her feel like this. She wanted to kiss him again, maybe longer this time.
She didn't know what she wanted. It was all mixed up. She curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow tight.
Wattle Creek was turning her world upside down, and Jack was the biggest part of it.
Maybe the worst part. Or maybe the best. She just didn't know.