Matilda stood by the creaky old barn, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her faded jacket.
It was her fourteenth day in Wattle Creek, a small town where the air seemed to cling to her skin, heavy and thick, like it was trying to slow her down.
She hadn't slept much the night before—Lily Grace Evans' mean-spirited rumor kept swirling in her mind, twisting her stomach into knots.
That ridiculous story about her and Jack sneaking off to Sydney together? It was pure nonsense, but it had spread through the town faster than a brushfire.
Jack had barely spoken a word yesterday after Lily stormed off in a huff, and that silence made Matilda feel terrible.
Terrible for him, terrible for herself. She hadn't started this trouble, but she felt responsible for fixing it somehow.
She didn't know exactly how she'd do it, but she was determined to try.
Jack was already at the barn when she arrived, his paintbrush moving slowly as he worked on the wooden frame of the town's wombat statue.
He didn't look up as Matilda approached, his focus on the careful strokes of red paint.
"Hey, Jack," she said, her voice soft, almost shy, like she wasn't sure how he'd respond.
"Hey, Matilda," he replied, his brush gliding lazily across the wood.
A drop of red paint fell onto his worn jeans, but he didn't seem to notice or care.
He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed, like he'd spent the night tossing and turning too.
"You holding up okay?" Matilda asked, taking a step closer, her sneakers scuffing the dirt.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Jack said, but his voice was flat, empty of its usual warmth. "What about you? You okay?"
"Not really," Matilda admitted, kicking at a clump of dirt with her toe. "That stupid rumor Lily's spreading—it's just so dumb. I can't believe people are buying it."
"It is dumb," Jack agreed, his brush pausing for a moment. "But people won't stop talking about it. Even my dad brought it up last night."
Matilda's eyes went wide. "Your dad? Seriously? What did you say to him?"
"Told him it's not true," Jack said with a small shrug. "He just laughed and said Lily's always stirring up trouble. Said she's got a knack for making a mess."
"Ugh, she's the worst," Matilda muttered, grabbing a paintbrush from the rusty bucket nearby.
She dipped it into the can of red paint and started working beside Jack, mimicking his slow strokes.
Jack met her eyes for a brief moment before looking back at the statue. "You know, Matilda, us hanging out all the time. People notice stuff like that."
Matilda's face felt like it was on fire. She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just stared at the wooden frame, her brush shaking a little in her hand.
She started painting again, but her hand slipped, and a big glob of red paint splattered onto her arm.
"Ugh, seriously?" she groaned, trying to wipe it off with her fingers. It only smeared, making a bigger mess. "Perfect. Just perfect."
Jack let out a small chuckle, the first real smile she'd seen from him all day. "You're a total mess, Matilda Harper."
"Oh, shut up," she shot back, but a tiny grin crept onto her face. "We've gotta do something about Lily, Jack. We can't just let her keep spreading this garbage."
"Yeah, but how?" Jack asked, dipping his brush into the paint can again. "She's got half the town believing her already. It's like trying to stop the wind."
"We show them it's not true," Matilda said, her voice growing stronger. "We prove we're not running off to Sydney or anywhere else. We show them we're staying right here in Wattle Creek."
"Okay, but how do we do that?" Jack asked, tilting his head to look at her. "It's just a bunch of talk. Words don't disappear easy."
"I've got an idea," Matilda said, her mind racing with a sudden burst of determination. "I'm gonna fix this wombat statue. All by myself. Tonight. If I do it, it'll show everyone I care about this town. It'll prove I'm not going anywhere."
Jack stopped painting and turned to stare at her, his mouth slightly open. "By yourself? Matilda, that's crazy. This thing's falling apart. It's a huge job."
"I know it sounds nuts," she said, gripping her paintbrush tighter. "But I have to do this. Everyone thinks I hate Wattle Creek. They think I'm some city girl who can't stand it here. But I don't hate it, Jack. Not anymore. I actually kinda like it."
"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "Fixing this thing alone? It's a lot."
"I'm sure," Matilda said, nodding firmly. "Just help me get the supplies, okay? After that, you can go home. I'll take care of the rest."
Jack let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "Fine, but I don't like the idea of you out here alone. It's not safe."
"You don't have to like it," she said, flashing him a small, stubborn grin. "Just help me out, and I'll be fine."
He shook his head again, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "You're so stubborn, Matilda Harper. You know that, right?"
"Yup," she said, letting out a little laugh. "Come on, Jack. Let's get to work."
They spent the rest of the day gathering everything Matilda would need. She carried heavy cans of red paint, her arms aching with every step.
Jack lugged wooden planks and a rusty box of nails, grumbling about how heavy they were.
They found an old lantern tucked away in a corner of the barn, its glass cloudy with dust but still usable.
As the sun began to set, the sky turned a brilliant orange, casting long shadows across the ground.
Jack set the lantern down next to the statue, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Be careful out here, okay?" he said, his voice serious. "If you need me, just yell or call. I'm not far."
"I'll be fine, Jack," Matilda said, trying to sound braver than she felt. "Go home. I've got this under control."
He nodded, but he didn't move right away. He stood there for a moment, his hands in his pockets, like he was debating whether to stay.
Finally, he turned and walked away, his steps slow and hesitant. Matilda watched him go, her chest tightening.
Part of her wished he'd stay, but this was her fight. She had to do it alone. She turned to the wombat frame—crooked, patchy, and barely holding together.
It looked sad and forgotten, but she was going to make it right.
Matilda lit the lantern, its soft glow pushing back the darkness. The night was quiet, filled only with the chirping of crickets and the faint scrape of her brush against the wood.
She worked quickly, spreading red paint over the rough, splintered spots. Her arms grew tired, but she didn't stop.
She grabbed a hammer and some nails to secure the loose planks, her hands clumsy in the dim light.
One nail went in crooked, and when she tried to fix it, the hammer slipped and hit her thumb.
"Ow!" she yelped, shaking her hand in pain.
It throbbed, but she sucked on her thumb and kept going, muttering to herself about how stupid nails were.
Sweat trickled down her face, mixing with the paint smudged on her cheeks. She didn't care. She was doing this, no matter what.
Hours passed, the stars twinkling brightly above her. Matilda's mind wandered as she worked.
She thought about Lily—her smug smirk, her cruel lie that had turned the town against them.
She thought about Jack—his kind eyes, his goofy laugh that always made her smile.
She thought about her dad, always running off, leaving her behind without a backward glance.
She wasn't like him. She wouldn't run. She'd stay in Wattle Creek. She'd fight for her place here.
The frame started to look better—straighter, brighter, more like the proud statue it was meant to be.
Matilda smiled, even though her whole body ached with exhaustion.
A sudden snap of a twig made her jump. She spun around, the lantern wobbling in her hand.
Lily stood there, her arms crossed tightly, her blonde hair catching the lantern's light.
"What are you doing out here, Matilda?" Lily asked, her voice sharp and accusing.
"I'm fixing the statue," Matilda said, straightening up and meeting Lily's gaze. "What are you doing here, Lily? Spying on me?"
"Just checking," Lily said, stepping closer, her boots crunching in the dirt. "Heard you were still hanging around, causing trouble."
"Yeah, I'm here," Matilda said, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach. "I'm not leaving Wattle Creek, no matter what you say."
Lily's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer. "Why'd you lie about going to Sydney with Jack? Trying to look cool or something?"
"I didn't lie," Matilda snapped, her hands balling into fists. "You're the one making up stories, Lily. You're the one causing trouble."
Lily smirked, like she was enjoying getting under Matilda's skin. "Prove it, city girl. Prove you're not just pretending to fit in."
"This proves it," Matilda said, pointing at the half-finished statue. "I'm fixing this for Wattle Creek. I'm staying here. Jack's staying here. So stop your nonsense, Lily. It's over."
Lily glared at her, her blue eyes cold and hard. "You don't belong here, Matilda. You never will. You're just a city kid playing at being one of us."
"Maybe I'm not like you," Matilda said, her voice calm but firm. "But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. You're gonna have to deal with that."
Lily didn't say anything for a long moment. She just stared at Matilda, her jaw tight, like she was searching for something to say.
Finally, she turned and walked away, her boots kicking up dust as she disappeared into the dark.
Matilda let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding. She wasn't sure if she'd gotten through to Lily, but standing up to her felt good. It felt like she was finally taking control.
Matilda turned back to the statue, diving back into her work.
The night stretched on, and her hands developed blisters from gripping the hammer and brush.
Her back ached, and her eyes stung from exhaustion. She didn't stop.
The frame was solid now, the red paint smooth and vibrant. She stepped back, the lantern's light flickering as it ran low on oil.
The statue wasn't perfect, but it was hers. It belonged to Wattle Creek, just like she did.
The sun began to rise, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds. Matilda collapsed onto an old tire nearby, her body heavy with fatigue.
Her eyes felt heavy, but a wide smile spread across her face. She'd done it—all by herself, for Jack, for herself, for the town.
Footsteps crunched in the dirt, and she looked up to see Jack walking toward her, his cap pulled low over his eyes.
"Matilda?" he said, his voice full of surprise. "You're still out here? You didn't go home?"
"Yeah," she said, her voice hoarse from the long night. "Take a look, Jack. I finished it."
He stopped and stared at the statue, his mouth falling open. "You did all this? By yourself?"
"Yup," Matilda said, nodding proudly. "Worked all night. Didn't stop once."
"Wow," Jack said, stepping closer to inspect the frame. "It looks really good, Matilda. Like, really good."
"Thanks," she said, her cheeks warming at his praise. "I had to do it. I couldn't let Lily win."
"For her rumor?" Jack asked, sitting down on the tire next to her.
His shoulder brushed against hers, and she didn't pull away.
"Not just that," Matilda said, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. "For us, Jack."
Her face burned as soon as the words slipped out. She hadn't meant to say it like that, but it was too late to take it back.
He looked at her, his eyes soft and warm, like he understood.
"Us?" he said, tilting his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Yeah," she mumbled, staring at her paint-stained hands. "I mean, I don't hate you or anything. You're not the worst person to hang out with."
Jack laughed, a warm, easy sound that made her heart feel lighter. "I don't hate you either, Matilda. You're not so bad yourself."
"You better not hate me," she said, giggling despite her exhaustion. "I'm a mess right now, but I'm not that bad."
"You're not a mess," Jack said, nudging her shoulder gently. "You're crazy, though. Staying out here all night? That's next-level stubborn."
"Shut up," Matilda said, laughing harder.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, just a little, too tired to care if it was weird.
He didn't move away, and that made her smile even more. The sun climbed higher, its warmth wrapping around them like a blanket.
Matilda's body ached, and her hands stung, but she felt happy—really, truly happy. Lily's lie didn't matter anymore.
She'd fixed the statue, and maybe she'd fixed something else too, something she couldn't quite name.
She didn't know what would happen next, but sitting there with Jack, the world felt right. It felt like enough.