Matilda's Imagines

Singing in the Shower

"Wait, so why are we doing this again?" Macca asked as she crammed the last of her popcorn into her mouth.

"Because," Lani said, barely looking up from the event flyer, "Mini's niece is performing in the local talent competition and she begged us to come."

Mini nodded, her "mum-mode" aura already in full swing. "She's been practicing for weeks. And honestly, we could all use a chill night."

They found their seats somewhere near the front, surrounded by buzzing parents, teens in glittery makeup, and the smell of hairspray and stage nerves. The small theater had that community charm — kids running tech, judges scribbling notes on clipboards, the occasional mic screech.

Macca leaned toward Mini. "You reckon any of these kids could sing better than Y/n's shower concerts?"

Mini snorted. "Not if volume counts."

Lani smirked. "Don't let her catch you saying that. She'll make you listen to her playlist on loop."

The lights dimmed and the show began. Acts came and went — a few shaky guitar covers, one magician, two tap dancers, and a kid who juggled flaming batons (Mini nearly had a heart attack).

Then the emcee stepped back onto the stage.

"Next up, we have contestant number twelve... performing a contemporary dance to a remix of 'Scars to Your Beautiful'... give it up for Y/n!"

The three women froze.

"Wait—what?" Macca said, sitting up straight.

Mini blinked. "Did she say—"

"Y/n?" Lani echoed, just as the stage lights shifted.

There she was.

Wearing a soft, flowing outfit — nothing too flashy, but elegant in its simplicity — hair tied back in a bun with loose strands falling around her face, Y/n stepped onto the stage with a quiet kind of confidence none of them had ever seen from her.

And then the music started.

Her movements were fluid, expressive, and grounded in something raw. Each step, turn, and reach of her arm spoke a truth she'd never said out loud. There was pain in the dance — yes — but also strength, joy, defiance. The kind you only find in people who've been broken and built themselves back up again.

Mini's hand covered her mouth. Macca's jaw had gone slack. Lani blinked furiously, trying not to cry.

They'd never seen this side of her before — the side that wasn't just the sweet, jittery kid with ADHD and nervous energy. This was Y/n, telling a story with her whole body.

A story of survival.

When the music ended, the silence lingered for a moment before the applause exploded across the theater. People were on their feet. And in the front row, three Matildas were clapping the loudest, crying and laughing all at once.

Macca let out a loud whoop. "THAT'S OUR BABY!"

Y/n's face lit up with shock when she saw them. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes went wide like a deer in headlights. But then her cheeks turned pink, and she waved shyly.

The announcer returned to the stage after the final few performances. The winners were announced.

"In first place, with a moving and powerful performance... Y/n!"

Mini stood up instantly, clapping with both hands above her head. Lani pulled out her phone, recording the moment as Y/n walked up to accept her medal. Macca was yelling, "Matildas represent!" at the top of her lungs.

Y/n was grinning so wide she could barely breathe.

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After the show, she ran into the lobby still holding her little trophy, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

"I—what are you guys doing here?!" she asked, breathless.

"We could ask you the same thing," Mini said with a raised eyebrow, pulling her into a hug. "You never told us you danced."

Y/n laughed nervously. "I didn't think anyone cared."

Macca gave her a playful shove. "Mate. We care if you sneeze too hard."

Lani smiled gently. "That was amazing, bub. Seriously. You were like... flying out there."

Y/n looked down at her trophy. "I started dancing in foster care. It was... the only place I could feel things. And not get in trouble for it."

Mini pulled her in again. "You never have to hide that part of you. Not from us."

Y/n looked at the three of them — the woman who mothered her, and the two sisters who made sure she never felt alone — and something in her chest settled.

Safe.

She was finally, truly, safe.

And tonight, she had danced like it.

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