(Matilda's POV):

After picking up the packages that were left, we make it to my room and the four of us manage to catch our breaths. Charlie, James, and Sophie lay their packages below the foot of my bed. Flopping down on it, I lay the book on my lap and begin to skim through it until I reach the section on nutmeg.

"Listen to this," I tell them.
"While allergic reactions to nutmeg are considered fairly rare, it can be extremely dangerous even if you aren't allergic."

"Hey. Isn't nutmeg a type of tree nut?" James asks.

I look up from the book.

"What?"

"I mean, it has the word nut in the name."

I shake my head in disbelief and look back down.

"Freshly-grounded nutmeg contains myristicin, a psychoactive substance as well as a monoamine oxidase inhibitor. Even in small doses, such as 5 grams, the myristicin found in nutmeg powder can bring about convulsions, hallucinations, and the like within 2-6 hours; recovery is usually within twenty-four hours of ingestion. Myristicin is also used as an antidepressant, but only as a last resort treatment. That means, even if she was lying when she said she had a nutmeg allergy, she could still have a reaction if I play my cards right."

"No seriously. Isn't it a tree nut?" James interrupts.

"What's that have to do with anything?" I snap as I slap the book down on my lap.

"I was just curious."

"Marie, the guests are here!" my mom calls from downstairs.

"Great," I groan as I set the book down.

"Why the sarcasm?" James asks.

"They're mostly daughters of my mom's friends. And they're all just like my mom."

For about half an hour, the party is mega brat-free. Keyword: mega. But that's not to say the guests are modest. Their starched ironed clothes and heavy makeup give off the impression they're all beauty pageant contestants. And conversation-wise, all they do is rattle each others' ears off about how their daddy bought them this and their mummy called them that. For me, making conversation with them always ends in failure.

"My daddy bought me a castle," one of them sniffs.

"Well, my daddy bought me a castle AND a summer house," scoffs the other.

"What about you, Maya?" the first girl asks in a huff; her long dirty blonde hair in tight curls and her light-brown eyes judging me with every single movement.

Both of them glue their eyes to me, waiting for a response.

"I got an A on my arithmetic test," I say casually.

The two laugh haughtily.

"Who needs school when you're pretty?" asks the first girl.

"I don't," says the second.

"But she does," the first scoffs pointing at Sophie.

"She's not even close to pretty. I can't even stand to look at her. Her clothes and hair are so plain and ugly. I suppose it's fitting to her face."

"But look at him," the second says glaring at James.

"That curly, brown-haired one?" The first asks.

"The one with the glasses. He looks nerdy."

"Indeed. He'll never get a girlfriend."

"And look at that skinny boy. The one in the rags. Can you believe she's friends with a street urchin?"

"I bet he's covered in filth. The dirty street urchin. He deserves to starve for being so filthy."

That's more than I can stand to hear. In fury I grab them by the collars.

"Talk about my friends like that again," I growl under my breath so mom won't hear.
"And I'll knock your prissy little behinds into next year."

I let go of their collars, knocking them to the floor, and they start to whine.

"Now look what you've done!"

"You've ruined our Chanel Princess gowns!"

"Oh bug off," I grumble.

Okay. I take back what I said about the party being mega brat-free. Even without Veruca, this is basically Bratcon. I literally have no sympathy for them. In the heat of fury, I stand by the wall next to Sophie, Charlie, and James.

"Having fun yet?" James jokes.

"Shut up, dodo," I snap.

All of a sudden, I hear the doorbell ring and an unfortunately-familiar voice pierces the air.

"Yoo-hoo, Matilda!" Veruca giggles.

I stand stiff on the wall hoping my mom won't make me let her in.

"MacKenzie, let your cousin in!" my mom snaps.

With a groan, I trump towards the front door and open it. Standing in the doorway are my uncle Nigellius and my cousin Veruca. Both carry packages wrapped in sparkly pink paper. Along with it, they're both wearing overly-starched outfits made of pink silk with white lace on Veruca's sleeves. On Veruca's feet are frilly white socks and spit-polished black dress shoes with a pink bow on each shoe. The mere sight of it is enough to make me sick.

"Hello, Matilda," my uncle greets me.

Let me tell you a little something about him. He's actually the only one out of my mom's family that I can stand. He doesn't push me to be a girly-girl, at least when it's just him and me together, but even if he is, he always just phrases it as a suggestion. Like, "How about you wear a frilly dress?" Something I could easily say "No" to.

"Hi, Uncle Nigel," I greet him.

Veruca, eager to steal the spotlight, thrusts the package at her dad and shoves me to the floor. As she runs inside, I can hear the other prissy girls oohing and ahh-ing over her.

"You alright, Matilda?" my uncle asks as he helps me up.

"Yeah. I'd be better if I could wear something else, though. Silky pink with frills doesn't really suit me."

I notice that Nigel is struggling, so I take the packages from him and place them on the gift table, heavily decorated in a frilly pink table cloth.

"Wow. I love your dress," the girls coo over Veruca.

"Do you really have a mansion in Paris?"

"Can I see Chambreau sometime?"

Veruca giggles and struts around the center of the crowd as she holds a cup of punch in one hand.

"The little brat," I growl under my breath.

In that moment, I know it's time I do something about her sickening arrogance.

"Let's spice up this party a bit," I say to myself with a knowing smirk.

Quietly I slip away from the crowd.