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.

Left-stroke, down, upstroke to the right…Matilda counted the gessoed color points that she needed to cover; her task was nearly complete. "Val—" startled at the masculine voice, she jumped, causing her brush to swipe the right of Wyatt's shirted chest with glue gloss.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," she breathed, still not making eye contact with Wyatt, who gently covered her hand with his own and continued painting, as her breath hitched.

"How do you paint the canvas?" Wyatt asked, as her hand moved beneath his.

"I-I'm almost done painting," answered Matilda, unused to the touch of his hand over hers, especially in broad daylight, "but it's left-right, then up-down, or whatever, to make sure the polish doesn't clump."

10:30 am, Lawn Outside Lakefront Gazebo to Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

Once the canvas had been layered with polish, Matilda and Wyatt left it to dry and meandered to the gazebo, where they sat. Wyatt raised Matilda's downcast visage to meet his eyes. "Why won't you respond to my texts? I've missed you."

After a beat, she replied, "you're the only person I've ever lost all sense of control over, and I'm scared—"

"Scared? Of what?" murmured Wyatt, reaching for her, glad that she didn't snatch her hand away for once.

"Of judgment. Of what others think. Of not trusting myself—of getting lost in this…fling—or whatever the hell this is," Matilda whispered. "This isn't me. I'm supposed to be smart, if hot-tempered, not…weirdly horny."

"But Val," interceded Wyatt, "we're of age, we're both magical beings—it's ok. To see where things go, I mean. You don't need anyone's permission to fall in love—or whatever this is…I don't even know what this is. And I'm scared too."

Matilda laughed incredulously. "You, Wyatt Halliwell, scared?" And, she wondered to herself, how did he know the right things to say? Matilda realized it was because in this moment, he and she were alike, two magical young adults spending time together in close proximity, and this was the closest either of them had ever come to baring their soul, front and center.

"That after camp, maybe we won't see each other again—and I'm crazy about you—more than you could possibly know," he said, his visage now inches away from hers, as they drew closer and kissed.

10:40 am, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

Matilda felt her phone buzz in her knapsack. Retrieving it, she opened the device to her mother's most recent text message, her brow furrowing as she retreated deep into thought.

"Everything ok, Val?" Wyatt observed her abrupt change in expression. Matilda was about to nod, then shake her head, finally shrugging. It's complicated.

"My grandma got bitten by a Norwegian succubus and needs persuading to return to her Azores Island home which'll cause her to age by a century, and my mom thinks I'm the key to bringing her back. Lord knows why," Matilda stated in frustration, as Wyatt draped his brawny arm around her slouched shoulders.

"What's your grandma like?" inquired Wyatt.

"Gran Morgana's not a blood relation—again, it's complicated—but she's our matriarch. She's the island's only magical obstetrician, foster carer, and babysitter. She's the only one besides me with curly red hair, and she's more stubborn than me, if you can believe it. She used to be married to my grandpa but she was too obstinate for him and far too ambitious to be in a relationship, so she claimed."

Wyatt chuckled, combing his fingers through Matilda's wavy red hair. "Sure sounds like someone I know. Kidding!" he said hurriedly as Matilda threw him a would-be glare. "What's your role then?" Her expression softened.

"I'm supposed to write her a letter to the bookshop she's staying at, to tell her how I've been—and plan on keeping her company some weekends once Morgana comes home."

"Sounds reasonable enough," posited Wyatt. Matilda nodded.

"I think Morgana's grown lonely over the years—even if my mom doesn't say so. She babysat me, Henry, Maya, Tory, all of us, over the years, and now she wants to retire, but she doesn't have anyone to talk to. Sure, Matias is around, and nice enough, but it's like pulling water from a rock to have him say more than a paragraph a day."

"Guess you'd better get started on that letter then?" Matilda assented, as they departed the gazebo for her cottage.

11:30 am, Outside of Cottage, Camp Wanaka

They arrived at the cottage, Matilda's key poised to unlock the door, when Wyatt spoke once more. "So, uh, Val, if you're free tonight, wanna have dinner with me?"

Matilda made a face. "Like, at the canteen?" She pictured macaroni and cheese and stale cheeseburgers saturated in grease. Wyatt shook his head.

"I know this place, if you meet me at the gazebo? 5 pm?"

Matilda angled her visage, peering into Wyatt's earnest, pleading eyes. "Wyatt Halliwell Junior, are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yes," Wyatt murmured. "Yes. Matilda, I am asking you to dine with me. And yes, it's a date. Whaddaya say?"

"I'd be delighted," she breathed, as he bent forward, brushed a few crimson tendrils from her visage, and kissed her soundly.

1 pm, Camp Wanaka, Cottage Bedroom

Matilda stared at the printer paper she'd nicked from the director's office, chewing on the tip of her black ballpoint pen. Where do I even begin?

Dear Morgana,

I miss you. Life's been complicated. A creep tried to manhandle me and I accidentally set fire to a jazz club that's been part of the family history for over a century. Then I met a guy while doing community service. I spent days, weeks even—trying to pretend my feelings didn't matter—trying as hard as I could to run away. And now I know I can't.

Anyways. You're the only one in the family besides me with red hair and a stubborn streak a mile wide.

I'm not great with words—I never pretend to be. And my life's a hot mess. Hopefully, you'll make the right choice for you. But know that we—Valensi, Vera, Jameson-Caine, Chase—we need you. And we love you, even if we've done a terrible time showing it lately. I'll—we'll—try to do better, I promise. I can stop by every week or so. I've missed seeing the garden and making guava jam with you. I could use some life advice (or in my mom's words, a stern 'talking-to').

Come home—please?

Forever your juvenile delinquent,

Matilda

It wasn't the most elegant, and probably would make a sane letter recipient run the opposite direction screaming, but Matilda inherently understood Morgana's sagacious nature and altruistic desire to help others that at times served as her own kryptonite. Matilda folded the handwritten piece into a small rectangle, slipping it into an envelope, addressing it to Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway, ATTN: Morgana, 2d Fl.

5 pm, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

She wondered if her Reformation: Nikita Dress in its Olympia blue-and-white-patterned floral print was a bit much for the occasion. Matilda hadn't brought much in the way of nice clothes, but her mother Macy had slipped in a few dresses when she wasn't looking. For once, she was grateful for her mother's tendency to overplan.

Matilda heard a telltale pop a foot away. Wyatt. She grinned nervously, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress as it had been packed at the bottom of her suitcase, crammed in tightly with lord knew what else.

"How was your day?" he asked, raising her hand to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers. Matilda's cheeks reddened slightly.

"Complicated," replied Matilda, now staring at Wyatt's accoutrements. Was that an ice chest? And a grocery bag? "So, uh, what's with the stuff?" She pointed to his sundry items.

"Tonight's dinner—but we need to get to our destination first."

"Oh?" asked Matilda, who couldn't help but be intrigued. "Where's that, exactly?"

Wyatt smiled enigmatically. "You'll see…" He offered his arm and Matilda took it, as they orbed off into the late afternoon ambiance of summer.

5:10 pm, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina

They landed squarely on the grey-worn wooden planked dock, with nary a person in sight. Wyatt led Matilda to one of the small white-colored futuristic speedboat-type water transportation vehicles. It looked like the stuff of movies, akin to James Bond-era yachts in the south of France. The vehicle had an upper railing which reminded Matilda of the tabloid photos she saw of her older sister Maya partying it up in Monaco, sunbathing on the balcony part of the boat. Matilda had never once set foot on such a thing, as she understood that it was far above her own earning potential and reserved only for the richest. Or so she thought, anyways.

"Is that a…" Matilda paused. "Yacht?"

Wyatt shook his head. "It's a retired Bayliner 285 SB boat, which I bought on auction awhile ago and fixed up as a hobby."

"It's nice," she replied, gazing at the smooth wood interior cabin with cushioned seating and a small two-person table.

"Thanks," Wyatt grinned as he removed the wares from his bags—fresh filleted fish, pre-roasted potatoes, and what appeared to be s'mores ingredients. He brought forth a hot plate, and after plugging in the device, proceeded to fry the fish, keeping seasoning to a minimum as the fish was flavorful already. Once the fish was prepared, he plated these then added the pre-roasted potatoes to the pan, where he warmed them, adding them to the plates of fish.

"Dinner for two," he said, presenting the plates.

"Looks amazing," Matilda murmured, and it did smell delectable, curls of aroma wafting throughout the cabin, coupled with the savory potatoes dressed in sea salt, rosemary, and a hint of olive oil. "My dad would love you," she remarked. "He's British, and kind of has a thing for fish and chips—or any variation of it."

"Cool," Wyatt answered, as he reached for two sets of utensils from a nearby compartment. "Your dad's British?"

"Yeah," said Matilda between forkfuls. "He grew up in another era and served in the war, then met my mom. They started out as coworkers. But it wasn't as awkward as you'd think—he worked for my mom and my aunts—and they came to see him as family."

"Y'know," remarked Wyatt, "that sounds like how my grandparents met. My Grandpa Leo was supposed to be doing home repairs, mending the light fixtures, and my grandma thought he looked kinda cute. Added plus: he was magical, like her."

Matilda laughed. "I wish I had a meet-cute story like that for my parents," she said in turn. "My dad kidnapped and tied up my mom and her sisters to chairs in the attic and told them they had magical powers and a day to decide whether to use them in full."

"Wow." Wyatt's fork paused above the potatoes he was cutting up. "Isn't that kind of…illegal?"

"Yeah, or morally dubious, I'm not sure. My dad wasn't above unconventional tactics back then. Still isn't,"she added, rolling her eyes.

5:50 pm, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina

"So then what happened?" Wyatt was hanging on every word, in rapt attention, as the conversation continued.

"I'm not sure. All I know is my mom dated a guy who sacrificed his life for the townspeople, had a tough time coping with his death, and dated a guy who was perfect on paper, but whose aunt was an evil nutcase."

"I feel like everyone has that story though, I mean if they date long enough, right? Trying to figure out who the right person is, trying to get through life—" Wyatt began.

"Yeah, one would think. 'Course, then my parents were in denial of their feelings for the longest time, according to my Aunt Maggie, until my mom finally turned on some slow dance music and my aunts hid in the attic waiting for my dad to finally get the hint—"

"Crazy story," Wyatt chuckled, but Matilda wasn't quite finished.

"—On top of family issues. I mean, there was the added layer of my mom growing up with her dad and not knowing she had two sisters until her mom died."

"Oof, sounds like my Great-Aunt Paige—except she didn't find out she had sisters until well after she was adopted. But that's her story to tell, not mine," replied Wyatt, as he reached for another morsel of fish.

"So we do have things in common then?" Matilda said with a grin. "And here I thought you were a perfect beach-blond surfer-boy type with a perfect family and perfect means."

"Well, I am quite athletic—" Wyatt laughed aloud, as Matilda swatted his chest playfully. "I dunno about 'perfect family' though—my family's definitely seen its share of dysfunction. Still, it's the family I've been born into, and I love them all, no matter how insane life gets."

"Me too," murmured Matilda. "Me too. I know exactly what you mean."