Matilda stood by the creaky old barn, her sneaker scuffing the dry dirt beneath her feet.
It was her tenth day in Wattle Creek, and she felt like her whole world was crumbling.
Just yesterday, Uncle Ben had dropped a bombshell—her parents might be packing up and moving to London, maybe with her, maybe without.
The thought made her stomach twist with anger, fear, and a whole lot of confusion.
She barely slept last night, tossing and turning, her mind racing with thoughts of home in Sydney, her friends, and, of course, Jack.
That kiss they shared two days ago lingered in her head—warm, fast, and honestly, a little scary.
She'd pushed Jack away yesterday when he tried to talk about it, and now she was stuck, unsure how to make things right.
Part of her wanted to fix it, but another part just wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there forever.
Jack was already at the barn when she got there, his hands busy sawing a piece of wood for the wombat statue they'd been working on together.
He didn't even glance up as Matilda approached, his focus glued to the rough wood in front of him.
"Hey, Jack," she said, her voice coming out small and wobbly, like she wasn't sure it belonged to her.
"Hey, Matilda," he replied, his tone flat, almost like he didn't care one bit.
The saw scraped loudly, its sharp sound filling the air. Matilda let her backpack slide off her shoulder and plop onto the ground.
She grabbed a paintbrush from the rusty toolbox nearby and started painting the wooden frame they'd built, her movements slow and careful.
She didn't say anything, and neither did he. The air between them felt thick and heavy, not because of the warm day, but because of them.
It was awkward, and Matilda hated every second of it.
She missed how they used to laugh, joke, and talk so easily. Now, it was all silence, and it made her chest ache.
They worked like that for hours, barely speaking a word.
"Can you pass the nails, Matilda?" Jack said at one point, his voice low and quiet.
She grabbed the small box of nails and handed it over, avoiding his eyes.
"Thanks," he mumbled, taking them without looking at her either.
Later, he said, "Hold this piece steady, will you?" pointing to a chunk of wood.
Matilda gripped it tightly, her hands sweaty against the rough surface.
It felt like they were strangers again, like all the fun moments—the pie fight, the dance, the kiss—had never happened.
Everything was cold and stiff, and it made her stomach hurt worse than ever. She didn't like this quiet Jack.
She didn't like herself for making things this way, but she had no idea how to fix it.
By noon, Jack plopped down on the old tire they used as a makeshift seat.
He pulled a sandwich out of his bag and started eating, his eyes fixed on the ground.
Normally, he'd offer her half, but today, he didn't. That stung, like a tiny pinprick in her heart.
Matilda sat cross-legged on the dirt, picking at her shoelace, tugging it loose and then tying it again.
The sun beat down, hot and harsh, burning the back of her neck.
She wanted to say something—maybe "I'm sorry" or "I didn't mean to push you away"—but her throat felt all knotted up, like the words were trapped inside.
She kept fiddling with her lace, her fingers restless.
After a long silence, Jack spoke. "You okay, Matilda?"
His voice was softer now, but he still didn't look at her, just stared at his sandwich.
"No," she said, the word slipping out before she could stop it.
She hadn't meant to be so honest, but there it was, hanging between them.
"What's wrong?" he asked, glancing at her for the first time.
His eyes were curious, maybe even a little worried.
"It's my parents," Matilda said, her gaze dropping to the dirt. "They might be moving to London."
Jack stopped mid-bite, his sandwich frozen in his hand. "London? Like, England London?"
"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Next month, maybe."
"Are you going with them?" he asked, his eyes locking onto hers.
For the first time that day, she felt like he was really seeing her.
"I don't know," Matilda said, shrugging her shoulders. "They didn't even ask me what I want."
"That's tough," Jack said, setting his sandwich down on the tire. "Really tough. What do you want to do?"
"I want to stay," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "But not here in Wattle Creek. I want Sydney. Not London."
"Why not here?" Jack asked, tilting his head, his messy brown hair falling into his eyes. "What's wrong with Wattle Creek?"
"It's not home," Matilda said, her words sharp. "It's just… dust and sheep and nothing else."
"It's not nothing," Jack said, his voice firm but not mean. "It's something. There's good stuff here, Matilda."
"Not to me," she said, her chest tightening. She looked at him, her heart pounding. "You'd leave too, wouldn't you? For surfing?"
"Yeah," Jack said, nodding slowly. "One day, I will. I want to."
"When?" Matilda asked, suddenly curious.
She leaned forward a little, resting her chin on her knees.
"When I can," he said. "I'm saving up money. My dad needs me here now, helping with the farm, but I'll go someday. I have to."
"Where would you go?" she asked, her voice softer now, like she was picturing it with him.
"The coast," Jack said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe the Gold Coast. Big waves, sandy beaches, all that."
Matilda nodded, imagining it—blue water, crashing waves, Jack on a surfboard. "That sounds really nice."
"It will be," he said, his eyes lighting up just a bit. "No sheep, no muddy fields, just the ocean and the sun."
"You hate it here too," Matilda said, half-teasing, a tiny smile creeping onto her face.
"Not hate," Jack said, shaking his head. "I just… I want more. Something bigger than this place."
"Me too," Matilda said, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "But I don't even know what that is yet."
"You'll figure it out," Jack said, his voice warm. "You're tough, Matilda Harper."
"Am I?" she asked, frowning. "I don't feel tough at all."
"You are," he said, looking right at her. "You handle the rain, the kangaroos, even me. That's pretty tough."
Matilda let out a small laugh, her first real one all day. "You're not that tough to deal with, Jack."
"Oi," he said, grinning now. "I'm plenty tough, city girl. Don't underestimate me."
"Sure you are," she said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling too.
They both laughed, just a quiet, easy laugh, but it felt so good. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than the silence.
Matilda didn't feel so alone anymore, like the heavy weight in her chest had lifted just a little.
Jack picked up his sandwich again, taking a big bite.
"Hey, Matilda," he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "About that kiss…"
"Don't," she said quickly, her face heating up.
She wasn't ready to talk about it—it was too much, too big.
"I'm sorry," Jack said, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I shouldn't have done it. I messed up."
"It's okay," Matilda said, looking away, her hands twisting together. "I just… I got scared. I freaked out."
"Why?" he asked, his voice gentle, like he really wanted to understand.
"I don't know," she said, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "It's all new. It's scary. I wasn't ready for… for that."
"Yeah," Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was scary for me too, you know."
Matilda looked at him, surprised. "Really? You were scared?"
"Yeah," he said, his cheeks turning a little pink. "I mean, I like you, Matilda. I didn't plan on it, but I do. And that's… it's a lot."
Her heart did a funny little flip, like it couldn't decide whether to race or stop.
"I can't pretend anymore, Jack. I like you too," she said, her voice so soft she wasn't sure he heard her. "But I'm all messed up right now. My head's a mess."
"Mine too," Jack said, giving her a small smile. "But that doesn't mean we can't be friends, right?"
"Friends?" Matilda asked, tilting her head, unsure what he meant.
"Yeah," he said. "Or… I don't know, whatever you want."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. Friends sounds good."
She didn't know exactly what "whatever" meant, but it felt okay, like he wasn't pushing her to figure it all out right now.
It was like a door left open, and she liked that. It gave her room to breathe.
They sat there for a while, the sun climbing higher in the sky.
Matilda's head was still a jumbled mess but Jack made it feel a little quieter, like her thoughts weren't screaming at her anymore.
She didn't want him to leave for the coast someday. She didn't want to leave Wattle Creek either, not yet.
But those thoughts felt too big to say out loud, so she kept them locked inside.
"Let's get back to work," Jack said finally, standing up and brushing crumbs off his jeans.
He held out his hand to her. Matilda took it, and he pulled her up, his grip strong and warm.
Her hand tingled where he touched her, and her stomach did another little flip.
She let go quickly, wiping her hands on her jeans like it would erase the feeling.
They went back to painting and hammering, talking a bit more now.
"Have you ever seen the ocean, Matilda?" Jack asked, dipping his brush into the red paint.
"Yeah," she said, smiling at the memory. "Sydney beaches. Bondi, Manly, all those places."
"Way better than here, huh?" he said, grinning.
"So much better," Matilda said, laughing. "Sand instead of dirt. Waves instead of dust."
"I'll get there," Jack said, his voice full of certainty. "You'll see me surfing those waves one day."
"Good," she said, and she meant it.
She wanted him to chase his dream, to ride those big waves. She just didn't want him to go too soon.
She didn't want to lose this—whatever it was they had.
The day stretched on, hot and slow. Matilda's brush slipped at one point, and a big blob of red paint splattered onto Jack's arm.
"Hey!" he said, laughing, his eyes wide.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" Matilda said, giggling despite herself.
She tried to wipe the paint off with her sleeve, but it just smeared, making an even bigger mess.
Jack grabbed the paintbrush from her hand and dabbed a spot of red paint right on her nose.
"You jerk!" she said, swatting at his arm, but she was laughing too.
They chased each other around the wombat statue for a moment, laughing loud and silly, like they were little kids again.
It was dumb, but it felt so good, like they could forget all the heavy stuff for a little while.
As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, Uncle Ben's truck rumbled up, kicking up clouds of dust.
Matilda grabbed her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder.
"See you tomorrow, Jack," she said, giving him a small wave.
"See you, Matilda," he said, flashing her a real, warm smile.
Her cheeks felt warm as she smiled back, then climbed into the truck.
"Better day today?" Uncle Ben asked as he started driving, his voice kind.
"Yeah," Matilda said, leaning her head against the window. "Kinda."
"Good," he said, nodding.
He didn't push her to say more, and she was grateful for that. She stared out the window, watching the barn shrink in the distance.
Jack's dream stuck in her mind—surfing, freedom, big waves crashing on the shore. She didn't have a dream like that, not yet.
She didn't know what she wanted, not really. But sitting with Jack, laughing, painting, even messing up—it wasn't so bad.
Maybe Wattle Creek wasn't just dust and sheep. Maybe it was something more, something she was starting to notice.
She didn't have everything figured out, but for the first time in a while, she wasn't running away. Not today.