Matilda, Child of Fire

MMV: Bayliner Bravery & Crimson

12 MMV: Bayliner Bravery & Crimson

"I didn't call you back, my fault/Some days I don't talk at all/...Truth is I locked myself in/And I don't know what to do..." –Astrid S., Dance Dance Dance

10 am, Lawn Outside Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

Matilda and Paige surveyed the set design for the campers' final theater project; the theme was "Hello/Goodbye" and the scenery depicted a vermillion sunset with a bevy of red, orange, yellow, and golden hues overlooking what appeared to be a depiction of the gazebo, the expansive lake, and the surrounding Southern Alps.

The carmine, darker rhubarb red, the nearly-indistinguishable-from-rhubarb-red cranberry, and the red wine color that reminded Matilda of her mother's preference for claret-hued lipstick all combined together to form a veritable symphony of pigment textures, much to the pair's satisfaction, as they placed the finishing touches of gloss to waterproof the artwork. Matilda had been pulled out of her typical junior division early morning duties with Wyatt to perform last minute touch-ups.

Matilda jumped at the opportunity, which happened to be the perfect excuse to avoid Wyatt.

She couldn't believe the other counselors and directors tasked her, of all people, to paint the canvas, knowing that her temper could easily set the entire thing ablaze. She supposed it was due to Wyatt's influence at all that she was allowed to exercise her creative talent, thoroughly ignoring the fact that her own fire skills which she decried as a nightmare were the very thing that made her gifted in identifying and applying such colors.

The summer heat had brought with it a myriad of suggestive, sultry undertones, and Matilda couldn't tell whether it was the Aetearoan paradise that made her violate Wyatt in the driver's seat that particular movie night, or if it was Wyatt Halliwell's...masculine wiles. Time and distance, she thought to herself as she slapped a transparent coat of waterproof paint onto the canvas, its droplets silvery-grey, tacky, and viscous, but which would soon hard-set against the sun's unwavering exposure, as if it had never existed in the first place.

"So...Matilda—" Paige finally broke the silence between them. "I gotta ask—what's going on?"

"Um...what do you mean?" Matilda's eyes remained firmly fixated on the bottom-left corner of the canvas, where mixtures of burgundy, chili pepper, and Persian red combined. Swipe up-to-down, left-to-right, no excess—

"With you and Wyatt." Matilda froze, her paintbrush poised in her right hand, as an outsized droplet slowly emanated from its bristles, falling toward the dewy ground. She drew her breath in sharply.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Matilda coolly, her cheeks turning pink. Paige seized Matilda's paint brush and left it dipped in the bucket of gloss between them.

"Look, Matilda, I'm not stupid. I know there's something going on between you two. I don't mean to pry—"

"Then don't," answered Matilda brusquely, snatching up the paintbrush with renewed fervor, layering the bottom half of the canvas with such force that drops began flying about in every direction.

Paige sighed. So much for that then. "Wyatt really cares about you, you know. He'd make you really happy, if you weren't so stubborn in pushing him away," she said softly. She made as if to say something else, but decided not to at the last minute, choosing instead to walk to the infirmary to check on the latest case of poison ivy.

10:15 am, Lawn Outside Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

Paige crossed paths with Wyatt, as she traversed the hill to the infirmary that Wyatt was in the process of descending. "I'm leaving you two to talk this out yourselves," she muttered in passing. Wyatt dug his hands into his khaki shorts pockets, trying to figure out how to make this crimson-haired beauty stay, for once in her life, and not flee from what could have some semblance of romantic potential, no matter how much in denial she was. He knew what he felt that night, and knew she felt it too.