Chapter 5: The Kangaroo Chase

Matilda stood by the old barn again, squinting in the morning sun. It was her fourth day in Wattle Creek, and she was still mad about being here.

Her arms were sore from yesterday's work on the wombat statue. The mud fight with Jack had been funny for a minute, but then she'd spent an hour scrubbing it out of her hair.

Now she was back, wearing Uncle Ben's big shirt again, ready for another day of dumb chores she didn't want to do.

The barn smelled like old wood and hay. The air was warm, and flies buzzed around her head.

She swatted them away, annoyed. Everything here bugged her—the heat, the bugs, the work. She missed her room back home, with her soft bed and quiet walls.

Jack was already there, hammering nails into the wood frame. He didn't look up when she walked over.

His hands moved fast, banging the hammer loud and steady. "You're late," he said, his voice flat.

"I'm not late," Matilda said, crossing her arms. "Uncle Ben's truck broke down. We had to push it."

She could still feel the ache in her shoulders from shoving that rusty old thing down the dirt road. Her sneakers were dusty from it, and her hands were still dirty.

Jack grinned, showing his teeth. "City girl pushing a truck? Wish I'd seen that." His eyes sparkled, like he was picturing it and laughing inside.

"Shut up," she said. Her face got hot, and she turned away quick. She didn't want him to see her blush.

She dropped her backpack by the barn door with a thud and looked at the mess from yesterday.

The spilled paint was dry now, a big red stain in the dirt. It looked like blood, but uglier. The frame was still crooked, leaning to one side like it might fall over.

"This looks awful," she said, kicking at the ground.

"Yeah," Jack said, shrugging. "We're not good at this."

He wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and went back to hammering.

Matilda didn't argue. She picked up a hammer from the toolbox. It was heavy and cold in her hand.

She started hitting a nail, trying to copy Jack. The nail bent sideways with her first swing. She frowned and hit it again, harder this time.

It popped out and fell into the dirt. "Stupid thing," she muttered under her breath. She wanted to throw the hammer across the yard.

Jack laughed, a short, loud sound. "You're gonna break it. Let me." He stepped over, taking the hammer from her hand.

His fingers brushed hers, rough and warm. He fixed the nail in two quick hits, driving it straight into the wood.

Matilda glared at him. She didn't like how he was better at this. She didn't like how he acted like he knew everything.

She didn't like him at all. Well, maybe a little less than before, but still. She turned away and grabbed another plank to hold.

They worked for a while. Jack hammered and sawed, the saw making a scratchy noise against the wood.

Matilda held planks steady and handed him nails when he asked. Her hands got sweaty, and the nails kept slipping from her fingers.

It was boring, and the sun climbed higher, getting hotter every minute. Her shirt stuck to her back, and her hair felt damp under Uncle Ben's old cap.

Her stomach growled, loud and empty. She hadn't eaten breakfast because Uncle Ben forgot to buy bread again. She ignored the hunger and kept working, pretending it didn't matter.

Around noon, Jack stopped and sat on an old tire by the barn. He pulled a sandwich from his bag.

It was wrapped in crinkly paper, and it smelled like ham and cheese. Matilda's mouth watered, but she stayed quiet.

She sat on the ground a few feet away, crossing her legs. She picked at the dirt with a stick, pretending she didn't care.

Jack took a big bite and looked at her. "You hungry?" he asked, chewing.

"No," she lied. Her stomach growled again, louder than before.

She pressed her hand against it, hoping he didn't hear. But Jack raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching like he wanted to laugh.

"Sure," he said, not believing her.

He took another bite, slow and loud. Matilda crossed her arms tighter and stared at the dirt.

She wasn't going to ask for food. No way. She'd rather sit there hungry all day than beg him for anything.

Then she heard a noise. A rustle in the bushes by the barn. She looked up, squinting.

A kangaroo hopped out. It was big, with grey fur and strong legs that looked like they could kick hard.

Matilda froze. She'd never seen one this close before. Its dark eyes stared at them, unblinking.

Then it hopped toward Jack, slow and curious. He didn't move, just sat there on the tire.

"Hey, mate," he said to it, calm like it was a person he knew.

The kangaroo sniffed the air, its nose twitching. Then, fast as anything, it lunged forward and grabbed Jack's sandwich with its little paws.

Before he could stop it, the kangaroo hopped away, clutching the prize.

"Oi!" Jack yelled, jumping up. "That's mine!" His voice echoed across the yard.

Matilda laughed. She couldn't help it. Jack's face turned red, and he looked so mad, waving his arms like a kid who lost his toy.

"It's just a sandwich," she said, still giggling.

"It's my lunch!" he shouted.

He ran after the kangaroo, his boots kicking up dust. It hopped toward the trees, the sandwich still in its mouth, paper and all.

Matilda stood up, brushing dirt off her jeans. She didn't know why, but she ran too. Maybe she wanted to see Jack lose this fight.

Maybe she wanted the sandwich back for herself. She wasn't sure. Her legs moved before her brain could catch up.

The kangaroo was fast. It bounced over rocks and bushes like they weren't even there.

Jack yelled, "Get back here!"

His voice was hoarse now. Matilda followed, her sneakers slipping in the dry dirt. She wasn't good at running.

Her legs felt heavy, like they were made of bricks. Her breath came out in short gasps, and her chest hurt already.

But she kept going, stumbling over sticks and stones. The kangaroo turned sharp and hopped down a small hill.

Jack was right behind it, his arms pumping hard. Matilda tripped on a root sticking out of the ground.

She stumbled forward, arms flailing. She caught herself just in time, but her shoe flew off and landed in the grass.

"Great," she muttered, annoyed.

She grabbed it quick and kept running, one foot bare. The ground was rough and scratched her sock.

The kangaroo stopped by a creek at the bottom of the hill. It dropped the sandwich in the mud and looked at them, tilting its head. Jack slowed down, panting hard.

"You little thief," he said, pointing at it.

Matilda caught up, breathing so loud she sounded like a dog. She laughed again, bending over to catch her breath.

"It doesn't even want it," she said, pointing at the sandwich.

It was ruined now, all soggy and covered in brown mud. The kangaroo hopped away, its tail bouncing, like it was bored with them now. Jack glared after it, hands on his hips.

"That was my food," he said.

He kicked a rock in the dirt. It flew forward and splashed into the creek with a plop.

"You can have another one," Matilda said, still grinning.

She sat on the ground, tugging her shoe back on. Her sock was wet and gritty now. She didn't care.

This was the funniest thing she'd seen since she got stuck in Wattle Creek. Her sides hurt from laughing so much.

Jack sat next to her, dropping down with a huff. "You think it's hilarious, don't you?" he said, wiping sweat off his face.

"Yeah," she said. "You should've seen your face."

She made a fake angry face, scrunching her nose and widening her eyes. Jack smirked, shaking his head.

"You're a mess too, city girl. Look at you." He pointed at her muddy sock and tangled hair.

Matilda touched her face and felt dirt there too. She probably looked awful—sweaty, red-faced, and covered in dust.

She didn't care about that either. She wiped her hands on her jeans and shrugged.

They sat there for a minute, side by side, watching the creek. The water was slow and brown, moving like it was too tired to hurry.

Bugs buzzed around their heads, tiny black dots in the air. Matilda's stomach growled again, sharp and empty.

Jack heard it this time. "Still hungry?" he asked, glancing at her.

"Maybe," she said. She didn't want to admit it outright. Her pride wouldn't let her.

Jack reached into his bag and pulled out an apple. It was small and red, with a little bruise on one side.

"Here," he said, tossing it to her. She caught it with both hands. It felt cool against her sweaty palms.

She looked at it, then at him. She took a bite. It was sweet and crunchy, juice dripping down her chin.

"Thanks," she said, her mouth full. She chewed fast, swallowing big chunks.

"Don't get used to it," he said.

But his voice wasn't mean. He leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out. He looked up at the sky, blue and wide above them.

Matilda ate the apple, feeling a little better. Her stomach stopped complaining. She didn't like Jack, not really, but he wasn't the worst right now.

She finished the apple, licking her fingers clean. Then she heard a splash. She looked down at the creek.

The kangaroo was back, standing in the shallow water. It stared at them with those big dark eyes.

"Not again," Jack said, sitting up fast.

The kangaroo hopped closer, its feet splashing. Matilda laughed and threw her apple core at it.

The core sailed through the air, but the kangaroo dodged it easy and bolted off into the bushes.

"You scared it," Jack said, looking at her.

"Good," she said. "It's a thief." She crossed her arms, smirking.

Jack shook his head, but he was smiling too. "You're weird, city girl."

"You're weirder," she said. She stood up, brushing dirt off her jeans. Her legs felt tired, wobbly from all the running.

She looked at the hill they'd come down. It was steeper than she remembered, with a ditch at the bottom she hadn't noticed before.

"How do we get back?" she asked, frowning.

Jack stood and looked too. "Uh-oh," he said. The ditch was deep, with muddy sides that looked slick and hard to climb.

They'd slid down it without thinking. Now it seemed impossible to get back up.

"You're kidding," Matilda said.

She walked to the edge, peering down. Her foot slipped, and she fell in with a yelp. The mud was cold and slimy, squishing around her legs.

She screamed, "Jack!" Her voice was high and sharp.

He ran over, laughing loud. "You okay?" he asked, looking down at her.

She was up to her knees in the muck, arms out for balance. She glared up at him, her face burning.

"Help me," she said, reaching up.

He leaned down and grabbed her hand. His grip was strong, his fingers rough from work. He pulled hard, and she climbed out, slipping a little on the way.

Mud stuck to her legs in thick clumps. She sat on the grass, breathing hard. Jack sat next to her, still chuckling.

"You're a disaster," he said.

"Shut up," she said.

But she smiled a little. It was kind of funny, even if she hated admitting it. She was a mess—muddy, sweaty, and tired.

Jack wasn't much better, with dirt on his shirt and sweat on his face. They were stuck by the creek, with no sandwich and just a half-eaten apple between them.

Jack stood and held out his hand again. "Come on," he said. "We'll find a way up."

She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. His hand was warm. They walked along the ditch, looking for a spot that wasn't so steep.

After a few minutes, it got shallow enough to try. Jack climbed up first, digging his boots into the dirt.

Then he turned and helped her up, pulling her arm until she was on flat ground again. Her shoes squished with every step, wet and heavy.

Back at the barn, the wombat frame sat untouched, crooked and sad-looking. They'd wasted half the day chasing a kangaroo and falling in ditches.

Matilda didn't care. She was tired, her legs aching and her clothes filthy, but she felt lighter somehow. Jack looked at her, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"You're not so bad when you're not yelling," he said, his voice soft.

"You're not so bad when you're not a jerk," she said.

They both laughed, just a little. It wasn't a big thing, but it was something. The sun was still hot, the flies still buzzed, and the work wasn't done.

But maybe Wattle Creek wasn't all bad. Maybe it was okay, just for now. She picked up her hammer again, ready to try one more time.