Matilda stood in her small room, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror. The night was quiet outside, and she was getting ready for the town dance.
Her hands felt sweaty, and her heart was beating a little fast. She didn't want to go, not one bit.
Mayor Frank William Dodd had planned the dance to raise money for a big wombat statue in the town square.
It sounded silly to Matilda, but Uncle Ben said it was important. He told her everyone in Wattle Creek had to show up, no excuses, not even for her.
She really didn't want to go. Dancing wasn't her thing at all. She didn't like moving her feet in front of people, and big crowds made her feel small and nervous.
All those eyes watching her? No way. She'd rather stay home with a book or just sit on the porch listening to the crickets.
But Uncle Ben wasn't having it. "This is Wattle Creek now," he said, his voice firm but kind. "You're part of this place, so you're going."
His words stuck in her head, and she knew there was no arguing with him when he got like that.
She looked down at the blue dress she'd pulled out of her suitcase. It was the only nice thing she'd packed when she came to stay with Uncle Ben.
The dress was short, with thin straps that rested lightly on her shoulders. It felt strange wearing it after days of loose shirts and comfy pants.
It hugged her body a little too much, and she tugged at it, wishing it was looser.
Her sneakers didn't help. They were old, covered in dirt from walking around the fields, and they looked out of place with the dress.
She didn't have any other shoes, though, and even if she did, she wouldn't wear fancy ones. High heels or shiny flats weren't her style. Never had been.
Her hair was a total mess, all knotted and wild from the wind. She grabbed a rubber band from her dresser and yanked her hair back into a messy ponytail.
It wasn't perfect, but it would do. She wasn't trying to impress anyone anyway.
She stared at herself in the mirror again and let out a long sigh. She looked okay, she told herself.
Not amazing, not like the girls in magazines, but okay enough. It didn't matter much. No one would care what she looked like.
Uncle Ben knocked on her door, making her jump a little. "You ready, kid?" he called, his voice loud through the thin wood.
"Yeah," she answered, her voice soft and a bit shaky. She wasn't ready, not really, but she didn't want to argue.
She grabbed her old jacket, the one with the frayed sleeves, and walked out of her room. Uncle Ben was standing there, waiting for her.
He had on a clean shirt, tucked in neatly, and his old boots were polished for once. His beard, usually a wild tangle, was combed smooth.
It looked strange, like he was trying to be someone else for the night.
"You look nice," he said, his eyes crinkling with a small smile.
"Whatever," Matilda mumbled, looking at the floor.
She didn't feel nice. She felt like a kid playing dress-up, all wrong and uncomfortable.
They walked out to his truck, the gravel crunching under their feet. The air was cool, and the stars were starting to peek out in the dark sky.
Matilda climbed into the passenger seat, her dress sticking to her legs a little. Uncle Ben got in, started the engine, and they drove toward the town hall.
When they got there, the shed was glowing with string lights looped around the roof and windows. Music spilled out, loud and bouncy, filling the night air.
People were standing outside, chatting and laughing, holding plastic cups and bottles. Matilda's stomach twisted into a knot. She didn't like this already.
They walked inside, and the hall was packed. The wooden floor creaked under her sneakers, and the air smelled like food and perfume.
Tables were piled high with snacks—sausage rolls, tiny cakes with pink frosting, bowls of chips, and jugs of lemonade with ice clinking inside.
A band was playing on a small stage in the corner, their guitars and banjo making a twangy, cheerful noise that echoed off the walls.
Kids were everywhere, running between tables, shouting and giggling as they chased each other. Matilda stayed close to Uncle Ben, her arms crossed tight over her chest.
She felt like she didn't belong here, like everyone could tell she was out of place.
Uncle Ben grabbed a beer from a cooler and started talking to Mrs. Elsie May Carter, an old lady with a wide smile and curly white hair.
She was wearing a flowery dress and kept patting Uncle Ben's arm as they laughed about something. Matilda just stood there, feeling awkward, her eyes wandering around the room.
Then she saw Jack. He was across the hall, standing near a table with drinks. He had on a clean shirt, blue and buttoned up, and his jeans looked new.
His hair was combed a little, but it was still messy, sticking up in the back like always. For a quick second, she thought he looked good—really good. Then she pushed that thought away fast, her cheeks feeling warm.
Jack was talking to someone. Of course, it was Lily. She was wearing a bright pink dress that sparkled under the lights, and her laugh was so loud it cut through the music.
Matilda's jaw tightened. Lily was always around, always smiling, always too much. And now she was hanging all over Jack, leaning close and giggling.
Matilda turned away quickly and grabbed a cup of lemonade from the table. The plastic was cold in her hand, and the drink tasted sharp and sour, but she drank it fast, swallowing hard.
She didn't want to care about Jack and Lily. He could talk to whoever he wanted. It wasn't her business. But her eyes kept sneaking back to them, no matter how hard she tried to look away.
Lily touched Jack's arm, and he smiled at her, his face all easy and relaxed. Matilda's hand squeezed the cup so tight it made a crinkling sound and crumpled in her fist.
Her chest felt hot, and her throat was tight. She was mad—mad at Lily, mad at Jack, mad at herself for even noticing.
The music changed after a while, getting slower and softer. People started pairing up, moving to the middle of the room to dance.
Uncle Ben took Mrs. Carter's hand, and she laughed as he spun her around, her dress swirling. They looked happy, like they didn't care who was watching.
Matilda stayed by the wall, holding a new cup of lemonade. She sipped it slowly, letting the cold drink cool her down.
She didn't want to be here anymore. She wanted to go home, back to her quiet room and her own thoughts.
Then Jack walked over. He was alone now, no Lily hanging on him. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle, like he was trying not to scare her.
"Hey," she said back, staring at her cup. She didn't want to look at him.
"You look nice," he said.
"Thanks," she said, her voice flat. "You too." She still kept her eyes down, watching the ice melt in her drink.
"Wanna dance?" he asked.
She froze. Dance? With him? Her heart did a weird flip. She didn't know how to dance, not really. She'd look like an idiot, tripping over her own feet in front of everyone.
"I don't dance," she said, shaking her head fast.
"It's easy," he said. "Come on, just try it." He held out his hand, palm up, waiting.
She stared at it, her stomach flipping again. His hand just stayed there, steady and patient. She sighed, loud and dramatic.
"Fine," she said, like it was the biggest chore in the world.
She took his hand, and he pulled her toward the dance floor. The music was soft now, a slow song that made everyone move like they were swaying in a breeze.
Jack put his hand on her waist, and she put hers on his shoulder. It felt strange—his hand was warm, and her arm felt stiff, like she didn't know what to do with it.
"Step like this," he said, moving his feet a little. She tried to follow, but her sneaker landed right on his toe. "Ow," he said, but he laughed, his eyes crinkling.
"Sorry," she muttered, her face burning. She felt so clumsy.
She tried again, moving slower this time. Her steps were wobbly, but she didn't fall or trip. Jack kept smiling, like he didn't mind her messing up.
"See? Not bad," he said.
"Shut up," she said, but a tiny smile snuck onto her face.
They moved in a small circle, their steps all awkward and out of sync. It wasn't smooth or pretty, but it was okay.
For a minute, Matilda forgot about Lily and the crowded room. It was just her and Jack, and the music felt softer, less annoying.
Then Lily's voice cut through everything. "Jackie!" she shouted, loud and sharp. She grabbed his arm, her pink dress flashing as she moved. "My turn," she said, smiling like she owned the place.
Matilda stopped cold. Jack looked at her, then at Lily, his face unsure. "Uh," he said. "We're dancing."
"Just one dance," Lily said, pouting like a little kid. She tugged at his arm, pulling him away.
He let go of Matilda's hand. She stood there, alone in the middle of the floor, her arms hanging limp.
Lily twirled with Jack, laughing loud, her dress spinning like a bright pink flower. Everyone was watching them, smiling like it was cute.
Matilda's chest felt tight, like she couldn't breathe right. Her face was hot, and her hands curled into fists.
She turned and pushed through the crowd, not caring who she bumped into. She needed to get out.
Outside, the air was cold and sharp against her skin. The string lights twinkled above her, but they just made her angrier.
She sat down on a wooden bench, her fists still clenched tight. Her dress felt too tight now, and her sneakers were heavy, like they were holding her down.
Jack was so stupid. Lily was worse. Matilda didn't know why she'd said yes to dancing with him. She didn't know why she cared so much. It wasn't supposed to matter.
The door creaked behind her. Jack stepped out, his shadow falling across the ground.
"Matilda?" he said, his voice soft and worried. "You okay?"
"No," she snapped, glaring at the ground. "Go back to Lily."
"I didn't want to dance with her," he said, stepping closer. "She just grabbed me—"
"You let her," Matilda said, her voice sharp enough to cut. "You always let her do that."
"She's pushy," he said, sounding helpless. "I didn't know what to do."
"Say no," she said. "It's not hard, Jack."
"I'm sorry," he said. He sat down next to her on the bench, close but not touching. "I didn't mean to leave you out there like that."
"You did," she said. "I looked so stupid standing there all alone."
"You didn't," he said, his voice firm. "You were good at dancing."
"Liar," she said, but her voice was quieter now. She looked away, staring at the lights in the distance.
The music drifted out from the hall, soft and faraway. She wanted to stay mad at him, wanted to hold onto that hot, tight feeling in her chest. But his voice sounded real, like he meant it.
"Let's dance here," he said. He stood up and held out his hand again, just like before. "No Lily this time. Promise."
She looked up at him. His eyes were serious, not teasing or joking. She sighed, long and heavy. "Fine," she said, like it was a big favor.
She took his hand, her fingers slow and careful. They stepped together, moving in the cool night air.
There was no loud music now, just the faint sound from inside, like a whisper. She stepped on his toe again, and he made a funny face but didn't stop.
"You're bad at this," he said, grinning just a little.
"You too," she said, her voice lighter now.
They laughed, a small, quiet sound that felt easy. It wasn't perfect. Their steps were still clumsy, and they didn't know what they were doing. But it felt better, like the knot in her stomach was loosening.
Lily didn't matter right then. The dance floor didn't matter. It was just them, trying their best under the stars in Wattle Creek, and for once, that was enough.