Author's Note: I do not own any of the characters except for the doctors, nurses, and other medical folk. Everyone else is copyright to Roald Dahl; the writer of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. However, I do own a dog-earred copy of the book and I have the 1971 movie on DVD.

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Chapter One: "Just Sit Down, Sweetheart"

The sun shone brightly through the blinds of the window of Dr. Marvin's office. It was a Monday, a dreaded day to all; kids AND adults. Dr. Marvin's secretary sat in her chair, talking to a client on the phone.

"Mhm? You want to schedule an appointment with Dr. Marvin for your mother? What time exactly, sir? YOU'RE A MISSUS?! I'm terribly sorry, madame. Has your mother been diagnosed with any mental problems? Schizophenia, you say? Alrighty then, Mrs. Mulch, bring your mother in next Friday at eight-o'-clock. Yes, A.M, silly! We close at 5:30 P.M.

This is how it was working in a therapist's office, and how it had been for ten years of the secretary's life. She was a young woman, thirty at the least. Her hair was short and blonde and she had her sunglasses perched on her brow of yellow curls. She hung the phone up and looked around the lobby. In an alcove, was the waiting room, with only a meager handful of people waiting to see the charismatic therapist who lie beyond the door in the back of the room. Soon, more people would walk in and join, but the secretary had more things to worry over than this. She went back to writing prescriptions for a toddler boy who was seriously ill with bipolar disorder. A noise went off: signalling the arrival of new patients. The secretary looked up.

"Daddy, I don't want to come here," whinned an teenaged girl in a red dress with black buttons that ran down the middle and ended above a black belt. Below the licorice black belt was a red skirt and white tights. The girl had short, dirty blonde hair and had almond-shaped blue eyes that shone with not sweetness or calmness like most would expect out of the blue eyes of a child, but with boiling anger and rage.

"Sorry, Ruci," said the short beefy man who followed her. He was taller than his daughter by only half an inch.

The girl shouted, "I want to go home, I want to go swimming in the indoor pool, NOW!"

The whole waiting room had the father and daughter's attention now.

The man whispered in the child's ear, "No, Veruca, your mother and I think it's for the best that you have...er...guidance."

Veruca's jaw flung down, "I beg your pardon, Daddy, but I am completely sane."

The secretary forcefully beamed, "Hello, kind sir and madame, are you here for an appointment?"

Veruca screeched, "WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE!?"

A man waiting in the alcove sniggered. Completely sane indeed!

"Erm," Veruca's father said, "The patient is Veruca Salt, she is here to be diagnosed. I'm her father...OUCH! VERUCA! DON'T KICK DADDY IN HIS PAINFUL SPOT WHILST HE IS TALKING!" Veruca stuck her tongue out at him, but he went on to finish his sentence, "...Henry Salt." He walked away from the desk, grabbed hold of Veruca's hand and led her to the waiting room.

"Now Veruca," Mr. Salt lovingly chided, "You were acting very much like a bad egg up there."

"FAH!" shouted the loud, obnoxoius little girl. "See if I care." She took a magazine and began reading it while standing next to her father, who was slumped down in his chair embarressed. She paged through the magazine with a pouty expression on her little face.

"Ruci," said her father sternly, "Please sit down, sweetheart."

Veruca rolled her eyes and plopped down in the chair next to her father, pout still upon her face. Mr. Salt had just took notice of it.

"Veruca!" he said hysterically, "Wipe that look off your face right now!"

Veruca yelled at him, "NO! You don't tell what to do, I am better than you because I have hair! WHICH MAKES ME RADIANT! LIKE A ROMAN GODDESS OR SOMETHING!" She threw the magazine she was reading at the little man and slapped him upside his bald head, "You always make things difficult." She got up and moved to another chair in the alcove.

Mr. Salt never got another chance to talk to his daughter during the whole time they were waiting for Dr. Marvin, due to the fact he presented himself only five minutes after their little spat.

Dr. Phil Marvin was the kind of man people hoped to be once they hit their late fourties: wealthy, wise, powerful, and not to mention good-looking. He walked into the lobby with much applause. He looked down at his clipboard filled with the names of his patients today. Veruca Salt. Hmmmm, isn't that what you sprinkle on your foot to kill warts? Ah well, it says here that her father is that guy who runs Salt Peanut Co., so he must pay well.

"Miss Veruca Salt?"

Veruca dusted off her skirt, "Here I am, Doctor!" She got up and walked out of the alcove; glaring at her father who shrunk with fear and embarressment.

"Hello, dear," said Marvin. "I'm Doctor Marvin and I'll be your therapist." His dark green compassionate eyes searched for a loving glow in the teen's eyes, but couldn't find any.

This was going to be hell.