(Matilda's POV):

"That ignorant, old witch!" I grumble as I pace back and forth in my room.

"It's alright, Matilda," Sophie says hesitantly.
"I wouldn't have wanted your mother's cake anyway."

"No, it's not that. It's the fact that they were calling you dir-dirt-"

I can't bring myself to say it.

"Dirty street urchins?" Charlie asks.

I nod sadly.

"It's fine. I get called that a lot."

"But it's not fine. You're not dirty street urchins. You're not even street urchins. Something has to be done."

Quickly I slip on a pair of jeans under my dress and a casual blue t-shirt in place of that frumpy pink monster. As I take it off, the various items I stuffed in the pocket fall out. I look at the Wonka bars and take them. I hand a chocolate marshmallow creme to each of them.

"Here. My gift to you. To make up for the cake."

"But Matilda, these are your birthday presents," Charlie reminds me.
"You love Wonka candy."

"I do, but I'm allergic to dairy. I wouldn't be able to eat these, even though I really want to. Besides, it's the least I can do to make up for what happened. And here."

I give Charlie the Nut-a-rific bars.

"Tell Grandma Josephine I send my regards."

"But what about the competition? I know you want that golden ticket."

"I'm sure I can manage without them. Besides I can use this coupon my uncle gave me for a few dozen of them to help us get ahead in the competition."

"But Matilda-"

"Please, Charlie," I tell him sadly.
"Take it. Please. I WANT you to have it."

He gives it some thought and then takes the bar.

"Thanks," he tells me.

"Say, why don't you open up your gifts?" James asks.

I look at him in confusion.

"But I already-"

That's when I spy the gifts below the foot of my bed. With a giant in my eyes and a smile on my face, I grab them and hop on my bed. The first one is from Sophie. A fairly tall, thin, messily wrapped package from her. In a flash, I tear the wrapping paper off. Inside is a small basket of Wonka candy, along with a few other trinkets hidden within.

"Wasn't this the basket in the candy shoppe window display?" I ask her.

"Yep."

"Wow. Thanks," I remark in awe.

Next, a dozen Wonka bars and a book from James.

"You know I can't have dairy, you dodo," I tell him.

But before I can punch his shoulder, the cover of the book catches my eye. A small girl sitting on a stack of books with a book on her lap as she gazes at another stack of books. She looks eerily familiar. I almost feel like I am her, but I can't quite put my finger on why or how.

"Matilda by Roald Dahl," I read.

"Never heard of this one."

"It's about a book lover whose family doesn't understand her and somehow she develops telekinetic powers. It sounded a bit like you, so I thought 'Why not?'"

"Cool. Thanks!"

The final one is a fair-sized rectangular package that reads "From Charlie and James." I shake it around a little and hear the banging of vials and the shaking of powder.

"No," I gasp.

"It couldn't be."

Slowly I peel the wrapping away.

"It is!" I exclaim.

"Advanced Deluxe Candy Confectionary Chemistry Kit for the Creative Adolescent Genius. How did you manage to get it?"

"Well, we pooled what we had together, scraped up a little more, and there," James explains.

I'm rendered speechless. Entranced, I trace the gold lettering of the kit as if it's a treasure. And, to me, it is.

"Thank you," I say through a choked voice.

Tears of joy stream down my face until I realize the inevitable. Quickly I take the kit and stuff it in my sock drawer.

"Why'd you do that?" James asks.

"If my mom sees this, she'll kill me. Or get someone else to do it for her. She'd probably think killing isn't ladylike and shouldn't even be done by women."

Despondently I sit back down on the bed.

"Hey, Matilda," James pipes up.
"Why did those girls call you a witch? You're not a witch, right?"

I shrug my shoulders halfheartedly.

"Did it have anything to do with the cake thing?"

I shrug again.

"I think it was my fault," I answer.

"How can you think it was your fault?" Sophie asks inquiringly.

"I'm still trying to decide whether it was or not. I just got so angry that-"

I sigh in defeat and shake my head.

"Never mind. Even you guys wouldn't believe me."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asks incredulously.
"Of course we would."

"No, you wouldn't. It even sounds crazy to me. It felt crazy, but also natural and almost commonplace."

"What felt that way?" Sophie asks.

I sigh.

"Call me crazy, but when I got angry, all I could see around me was red. Next these little red hands came out from somewhere and slipped under either the cake slice or the plate. And then they flung them upwards into their faces!"

The three of them look at me in a mixture of awe and confusion.

"Why do you say it felt crazy, yet natural?"

"I don't know. I feel like-like I did it many times before. But years ago. And in a different place."

"Odd," Charlie remarks.

"As stimulating as this conversation is," James suddenly pipes up.
"We need to get to the factory and find that prankster Dani."

"I know she's not pranking," Sophie defends in a suddenly-anxious tone.
"It's not like her to disappear so mysteriously."

"Either way we should check the factory."

"But what about my mom?" I point out.
"If she catches me sneaking out, who knows what she'll do?"

The four of us sit lost in thought, looking for a solution. Suddenly James snaps his fingers, runs over to a corner of my room, and picks up a burlap sack and a rope.

"I have an idea."