Matilda stood outside the old barn, staring up at the sky. It was her seventh day in Wattle Creek, and the air felt heavy, like it was holding its breath.
Dark clouds moved in, thick and grey, swallowing the sun. She'd never seen clouds like these back in Sydney.
There, clouds were soft and white, or thin like streaks of paint. These ones looked mean, like they wanted trouble.
She pulled her jacket tight around her body. The wind was picking up, blowing bits of dust and tiny sticks into her eyes.
She blinked fast and rubbed her face with her sleeve, trying to clear the grit.
Jack was nearby, hammering nails into the frame of a big wombat statue.
He'd been quiet all morning, not saying much since the dance last night.
They'd danced outside under the stars after Lily caused a scene, and it felt nice—awkward, sure, but kind of special.
Matilda's stomach did a funny little flip whenever she thought about it.
She remembered his hand on her waist, steady and warm, and how he laughed when she tripped over his feet.
She didn't want to like him. He was just a country boy who got on her nerves half the time with his teasing.
But lately, he wasn't so bad. Maybe he was even kind of nice.
"Looks like rain," Jack said, his eyes still on the nail he was hitting.
He swung the hammer, and the bang was loud, cutting through the quiet.
"Yeah," Matilda said. She kicked a small rock by her foot, watching it roll into the dirt. "Should we stop working?"
"Nah," he said, wiping sweat off his forehead. "We're almost done with this part. Just a bit more to do."
Matilda shrugged. She didn't care a whole lot about the wombat statue, but she picked up a paintbrush anyway.
The red paint was thick, like syrup, and it stuck to her fingers, making them all gooey.
She wiped them on her jeans, leaving red smears. Her jeans were already a mess—covered in mud, paint, and patches of dirt.
In Sydney, she'd have hated that, but here in Wattle Creek, it didn't seem like a big deal anymore.
Everything was dirty, and she was starting to get used to it, even if it felt weird.
They kept working for a while, maybe an hour or so.
The wind got stronger, whistling through the barn's broken boards and making them creak.
Matilda's hair kept blowing into her face, sticking to her cheeks and lips.
She pushed it back, annoyed, but her hand left a streak of red paint across her cheek. Jack looked over and laughed, his eyes bright.
"You're a painter now, huh?" he said, grinning.
"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes.
But she smiled a little, too. She liked when he teased her like that—it wasn't mean, just silly and kind of fun.
She started painting faster, trying to keep up with him. The statue's frame was starting to look better—not perfect, but not awful either.
She felt a tiny spark of pride, even though she'd never admit it out loud.
Then a cold drop landed on her hand. She stared at it, surprised. Another drop hit her nose, wet and chilly.
"Rain," she said, looking up at the sky.
Jack stopped hammering and looked too.
"Yeah," he said. "Big rain."
More drops fell, fast and heavy, like someone was tossing pebbles. They hit the ground, puffing up little clouds of dust.
Then it really started. The rain came down hard, like a curtain falling, soaking them in seconds.
Matilda squealed, caught off guard, and ran for the barn. Jack was right behind her, laughing so loud she could hear it over the rain.
Inside, the barn was dark and damp, with a musty smell. The roof had holes, and water dripped through, splashing onto the dirt floor in little puddles.
Matilda shivered, her jacket sticking to her arms like a wet towel.
"This is awful," she said, her voice shaky from the cold.
"It's okay," Jack said. He shook his head hard, sending water drops flying from his hair like a dog after a bath. "We'll just wait it out here."
But the rain didn't stop. It got louder, pounding the tin roof so hard it sounded like a drum.
Thunder rumbled, deep and long, making the whole barn shake. Matilda jumped, her heart racing.
She hated storms—they were so loud and scary, like the sky was angry.
She hugged herself tight, trying to stop shivering. Jack looked at her, his face softer now.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning closer.
"Yeah," she said, but it was a lie.
Another boom of thunder came, even louder, and she flinched, squeezing her arms tighter.
"You're not," he said, his voice gentle. "It's just noise. It can't hurt you."
"That's easy for you to say," she said, her voice sharp. "You're used to this kind of thing."
"Sometimes it still spooks me," he said. He sat down on an old wooden crate, patting the spot next to him. "Come sit here."
She hesitated, then sat beside him. Her teeth were chattering, and she felt cold all the way through.
The barn smelled bad, like wet wood and old dirt, and it wasn't much warmer than outside.
A drop of water fell from the roof, landing right on her knee.
She moved closer to Jack, not touching him, but near enough to feel the warmth coming off him.
It made her feel a little better, safer somehow. She didn't say anything, just listened to the rain hammering outside.
Then there was a loud crack, sharp like a branch snapping. Matilda's head jerked up.
"What was that?" she asked, her voice high and scared.
Jack stood up fast.
"The frame!" he said.
He ran out into the rain without another word. Matilda didn't stop to think—she just followed him.
The rain hit her hard, cold and stinging, like tiny needles on her skin. The wombat frame was leaning over, one side sinking deep into the mud.
The storm was wrecking it, pulling it apart.
"No!" Jack yelled, his voice full of panic.
He grabbed a wooden plank, trying to hold the frame up. The wind pushed back, howling in their ears.
"We have to fix it!" Matilda shouted, her voice nearly lost in the noise.
She ran to the other side, grabbing a rope tied to the frame. It was slimy and wet, slipping through her hands.
She gripped it harder, pulling with everything she had. Her arms ached, but she didn't let go. The frame wobbled, then tilted even more.
"Jack!" she yelled, her heart pounding.
He slipped in the mud, nearly falling, but ran to her side.
"Hold this!" he said, shoving a heavy plank into her arms.
She grabbed it, her feet sliding in the wet dirt. The rain poured into her eyes, blurring everything.
She blinked fast, holding the plank as tight as she could. Jack yanked the rope, tying it to a post nearby.
He pulled hard, his face red and his hair plastered to his forehead. The frame creaked loudly but stopped falling.
"It's not enough!" Matilda yelled, her voice hoarse.
She dropped the plank and ran back to the barn, her shoes squishing with every step.
Her hands were shaking—cold, wet, and scared—but she grabbed a big tarp from a pile inside.
She dragged it out, slipping in the mud twice and nearly dropping it. Jack ran over, his boots splashing.
They threw the tarp over the frame together, the wind trying to rip it from their hands.
They worked fast, tying it down with ropes and heavy rocks they found nearby. The tarp flapped like a flag, but it held tight.
They stood there, breathing hard, soaked to the bone. The rain slowed a little, turning into a steady drip instead of a flood.
Matilda wiped her face with her sleeve, but it just smeared mud everywhere—on her cheeks, her nose, even her chin.
Jack looked at her and started laughing, his shoulders shaking.
"You look like a swamp monster," he said, his voice warm and teasing.
"You're one too," she said, giggling despite herself.
His shirt was brown with mud, his hair flat and dripping. They both laughed, loud and silly, even though they were a mess.
They'd almost lost the statue, but they saved it. Together, they'd done it.
"Let's get back inside," Jack said, still catching his breath.
They ran to the barn, leaving muddy footprints behind them.
Inside, they sat on the crate again, side by side. Matilda was shivering hard, her clothes heavy and cold.
Jack took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. It was wet, but it was warm from him, and it felt nice.
"Thanks," she said, her voice small.
"No problem," he said. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. "That was close, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Mayor Dodd would've been so mad at us."
"Definitely," Jack said, grinning wide. "You're tougher than I thought, city girl."
"Shut up," she said, but she smiled, her cheeks warm despite the cold.
She liked that he said it. She felt stronger, braver, after standing out there in the rain, fighting the wind and mud.
She wasn't the same scared girl from Sydney, not right now, and it felt good.
They sat close, the storm still grumbling outside, softer now. Matilda's hand brushed against his, just a little.
She didn't pull away. He didn't either. Her heart started beating fast, and it wasn't because of the thunder.
It was him—Jack. She didn't know what it meant, and she didn't want to think about it too much. It was confusing, scary even.
The rain kept falling, pattering on the roof, and they stayed there, wet and covered in mud, waiting for the storm to pass.