(Matilda's POV):
Several hours later, we go through gifts. The girls reluctantly crowd around me and one by one, I open their packages. Or more appropriately, the "Barely-Know-Me Boxes." In them I find:
-Several dozen frilly hair bows.
-Endless bottles of perfume.
-Too many dresses.
-The World's Entire Supply of Dolls, Doll Clothes, and Doll Play sets.
-At least five pink diaries with matching pink, glittery, gel pens.
-An entire pink mani-pedi set from Paris, courtesy of my cousin, who thankfully preceded to whine at her father that she wanted it, so I had to give it back to her.
And way too many things I never even wanted in the first place.
The only things I get from them that's actually worth keeping are a coupon from my uncle which entitles me to at least two dozen free Wonka bars at the candy store, though I'm not even sure how that's legal, along with two Wonka Nut-a-rific bars and three Wonka chocolate marshmallow creme bar from one of the girls. I slip them into my dress pocket for fear of my mom taking them away.
From there comes cake; of course it's a pink cake that my mom ordered all the way from Paris. As Charlie, James, and Sophie line up for a piece of cake, they get pushed to the back along with me. When we get to the front, my mom stops my friends in their tracks.
"I'm sorry, but you aren't allowed to have this cake," she sniffs with an air of disapproval.
This infuriates me.
"That's not fair, mom!" I snap.
"They're guests too. They can have cake just like any other person here."
"Oh, grow up, Mayzie," she scoffs.
"But mom-!"
"She said grow up! Dirty street urchins don't deserve cake," says the light-brown eyed girl; the one who called Sophie ugly and called Charlie a dirty street urchin earlier.
My face begins to burn in anger. All I see around me is red. In the center of my vision is that girl's piece of cake. It isn't fair how the spoiled brats get to have my cake, but my friends don't. I just wish it would explode in their faces. I want them to be dirty on the outside as well as on the inside. I see thousands of tiny, red hands stretching out in front of me towards the girl's slice of cake.
"Make it explode," I think.
"Make her the dirty street urchin."
Some of the hands slip under the bottom of the plate while some slip underneath the slice of cake. They slowly lower themselves, readying to strike. Then in a flash, they shoot back up and fling the cake onto her face and dress. I hear her screaming in disgust.
"My dress! My hair. My face!" she whines.
"Ruined! All ruined."
The others rush around her.
"Who's the dirty street urchin now?" I growl under my breath with a satisfied smirk.
In truth I'm full of satisfaction and surprise. I'm not entirely sure where I learned how to do that, yet I'm glad at least someone got what was coming to her.
"What happened, Taylor?" they ask.
"It was Marcie!" she spits pointing at me.
"She did it!"
The other girls gasp and look at me disgust.
"You idiot!" I exclaim with a smirk and a scoff.
"I didn't even move from my spot."
"I'm not surprised that she did it," the second comments.
"If she were proper, she wouldn't have."
"But she's just a mistake," Taylor and the others spit.
The word echoes around in my ears. I begin to see red again and the same thing happens. This time I target the other girls' pieces. One by one, each of them fly in their faces, resulting in an endless stream of disgusted screams.
"Oh grow up," I scoff to myself.
"Daddy, I want her to apologize now!" Veruca spits as she jumps up and down in fury.
"Now! Now! Now-!"
All of a sudden, she stops and sways a bit. The blood fades from her face and then she stiffens up, falling to the carpeted floor. Immediately we gather around her. For a moment or two, nothing happens. Then, suddenly, she begins to convulse and shake wildly.
"Veruca, sweetheart!" my uncle exclaims, picking her up and trying to hold her steady.
"I'd better get her to the hospital."
"But the sleepover-!" my mother exclaims.
"Maybe another day!"
And with that, he rushes out in a flash. Immediately, Taylor struts up to me in fury.
"Look at what you've done!" she snaps.
"You really are a mistake. You're a witch. A bad witch!"
"Oh shut up!" I spit.
"Bad witches are ugly and heartless, so really you're the bad witch."
She gasps and begins to throw a temper tantrum.
"This is the worst party ever. I want to go home right now and I want that witch burnt at the stake!"
At that moment, all of their parents pull up. Like a machine, they file out one by one while complaining to each other. I turn to look at Charlie, James, and Sophie and nod at them. The three of them rush up to my room. I turn back to my mom.
"Is Veruca going to be alright?" I ask with only a slither of concern.
"I don't know. I'm not a doctor."
She sounds incredibly irritated.
"Now, Madeleine, you are going to write an apology to every single one of those girls for what you did."
"But I didn't do anything. And anyway, they were worse! You heard them. They called me a mistake! If anything, THEY should be apologizing to ME!"
"No excuses, young lady! Now you march up to your room and think about what you've done. And until you behave, you will not use their lovely gifts they bought you."
Fine by me, I think as I head upstairs, quickly stuffing the small container of nutmeg and the measuring spoons into my dress pocket.
Not before do I touch the first step do I hear my mother say these very words.
"They're right. That brat I'm supposed to call my daughter is a mistake. She's nothing like a girl should be. Matilda's too caught up in this stupid science stuff. It's not right. I ought to fix her."
With my eyes widened, I rush upstairs.