Chapter Text
Galinda woke up to the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door. It wasn’t gentle. It was the kind of knock that meant one of her moms had already had coffee and felt powerful.
“Galinda, sweetheart, rise and shine,” Larena called through the door.
Galinda stared at the ceiling, groaned, and rolled over. “What time is it?”
Idina answered from the hallway, voice flat. “Too late for all the time you thought you’d have to get ready.”
That got her moving.
She threw off her comforter and padded across the room to her vanity, already mentally calculating the choreography of her morning routine. Hair first. Makeup second. Clothes last, because her moms would absolutely come in and offer opinions she did not ask for.
She sat down and grabbed her moisturizer. In the mirror, her hair looked like it had given up on life overnight.
Perfect. She’d fix it.
The door opened without asking. Larena swept in carrying a tray with a smoothie, a buttered roll, and a sticky note with a heart drawn on it, because of course she did.
“I knew you’d forget breakfast again,” Larena said, setting it down on the vanity. “Eat.”
Galinda smiled despite herself. “You’re impossible.”
Idina followed her in, holding a mug of something that definitely had wine in it even though it was eight in the morning. “She’s right though. Low blood sugar makes you dramatic, and none of us have time for competition.”
Larena placed a hand on her chest. “I am never dramatic. I am expressive.”
“You’re hovering,” Idina said. She turned to Galinda. “We are hovering. Sometimes being self aware is enough.”
Galinda picked up her mascara wand and glared at the two of them softly. “Can I finish my makeup without an audience?”
Larena gasped as if Galinda had requested to move out. “We are being supportive.”
Idina sipped her drink. “We are absolutely hovering.”
Galinda let out a breathy laugh and turned back to the mirror. Her moms stayed for another ten seconds before drifting out, continuing an argument about whether Larena’s new earrings clashed with her shirt.
The room went quiet again.
Galinda focused on steadying her hands. First week of school always made her stomach flip.
She braided a single piece of her own hair, the way she always did before big days, and let it fall over her shoulder.
“You’ve got this,” she murmured to her reflection.
Pink sweater. Lavender gloss. Eyes a little too bright from nerves, but she could work with that.
She grabbed her bag, took a sip of her smoothie, and whispered to herself, “Okay. First day. Be normal.”
From the hallway, Idina called back, perfectly deadpan, “Ambitious goal.”
Galinda laughed, shook her head, and headed for the door with a grin she couldn’t fight.
—
The front entrance of Shiz Academy already felt loud. Kids milled around with instrument cases bigger than they were. The smell of acrylic paint mixed with cafeteria hash browns hung over everything. Someone was stretching in the middle of the hallway for no reason. Normal, apparently.
Elphaba stepped inside with her schedule in hand and her backpack dragging slightly on one shoulder. Her hood was up. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. She just didn’t feel like making eye contact with the entire arts program before eight in the morning.
“Thropp.”
She turned and saw Boq waving both arms like a landing signal. He was shorter than she remembered from last year but ten times more energetic.
“Elphaba!” Crope said, barreling toward her with Tibbett trailing behind. “You actually transferred. Look at you. Officially one of us.”
Elphaba blinked. “I walked through the door. That’s all I’ve accomplished.”
Crope made a noise of triumph. Tibbett offered her a granola bar like he was initiating a ritual. “You should eat. Today’s going to be a mess.”
“That’s encouraging.”
Boq checked the list on her schedule before she could say anything else. “Locker assignment. We should find it with you. Just in case someone’s already claimed your shelf.”
“Is that a thing?” she asked.
“It shouldn’t be,” Tibbett answered, “but it absolutely is.”
They set off down the hallway. A cluster of paint-splattered freshmen argued over a sculpture made of spoons. A jazz kid practiced scales while walking. Someone spilled bubble tea and no one cleaned it.
Shiz Academy was everything she remembered from visiting last year. Loud. Chaotic. Full of kids carrying violins like weapons and paint brushes like status symbols.
Boq led the charge until he stopped suddenly. “Here. Thropp. Locker 218.”
Elphaba turned to it, already pretending she didn’t notice how quiet her friends suddenly got.
Tibbett cleared his throat. “You’re… um. Right next to 217.”
Crope pointed at the name tag already taped neatly in place.
Galinda UPLAND
Elphaba stared. The name meant nothing yet, but Boq, Crope, and Tibbett acting like she’d stepped into a danger zone made her uneasy.
Crope leaned in, whispering, “That’s her.”
“Who?” Elphaba asked, though she already regretted it.
Boq sighed. “Galinda Upland. Lead in every musical. Dance captain. Student council. The works.”
Tibbett lowered his voice. “And the reason half the freshmen cry by October.”
Elphaba frowned. “Why.”
Before anyone could explain, the hallway shifted around them.
“Excuse me. Move, please. Coming through.”
A pastel sweater. Perfect curls. A matcha cup held effortlessly.
Galinda Upland walked straight toward her locker like the hallway existed only to witness her entrance.
She reached her door, then finally noticed Elphaba.
Her smile flickered.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Evaluation.
Elphaba didn’t miss the way Galinda’s gaze paused on her face.
Her skin.
Her color.
It wasn’t subtle.
“Oh.” Galinda blinked once, openly staring. “You’re… green.”
Elphaba stiffened. “Yes.”
Galinda let out a tiny breathy laugh, the kind that said she wasn’t impressed. “Right. Well. You’re the new locker neighbor.”
Galinda shifted her matcha to her other hand, eyes still on Elphaba’s skin. “Do people stare? That must get tiring. Or maybe you’re used to it.”
The words were soft. The tone wasn’t.
Elphaba fought the urge to step back. “I’m Elphaba.”
Galinda didn’t smile this time. “Yes, I know. Thropp. You’re in my Chemistry II class.” She tilted her head slightly. “Advanced placement. For a transfer. Interesting.”
Elphaba swallowed. “I took placement tests.”
“Mhm.” Galinda’s eyes drifted over her again. “Do they not have mirrors where you transferred from?”
Elphaba blinked. Galinda gave her a bright, polished smile as if she hadn’t said anything at all.
“Well,” Galinda continued, opening her locker with a practiced flick, “welcome to Shiz. Sorry no one warned you about the lighting. It’s not very forgiving.”
Elphaba’s jaw tightened.
Galinda placed her matcha delicately on the top shelf and hummed to herself like this was all normal.
Elphaba shut her locker. Not loud. Just final.
She tried not to look at Galinda again.
She failed.
Galinda caught her eye, expression pleasant in a way that felt performative.
“Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “You’ll adjust.”
Elphaba didn’t answer.
Galinda didn’t seem to need one.
Elphaba turned to her friends. “What was that?”
Crope snorted. “Your new neighbor.”
Boq grinned. “I ship it.”
Tibbett sighed. “Please don’t start.”
Elphaba ran a hand over her face. “This is going to be a long year.”
—
Galinda noticed her the second she walked in.
Not because of the color. That was obvious. Everyone else had already done the staring for her. Galinda noticed the posture first. The way Elphaba didn’t hesitate at the door, didn’t slow down even as the room took her in. No apology in her stride. No flinch.
Interesting.
The whispers were already circulating by the time Galinda set her matcha down.
“Is she really green?”
“Wild.”
“Alien chic.”
Galinda kept her eyes forward, lashes lowered, attention fixed neatly on the board. She didn’t need to look to know exactly where Elphaba sat. Middle row. Confident choice. Not hiding. Not performing either.
Prof Nikidik started talking. Galinda took notes she didn’t need. The room settled into its usual hum, the kind that let her disappear in plain sight.
Then Nikidik said, “Thropp. Upland.”
Galinda looked up.
Not surprised. She’d already decided this would happen.
She rose smoothly, chair barely scraping, and crossed the aisle at an unhurried pace. She placed her matcha down with care before sitting, angled just enough to invade Elphaba’s space without touching her.
Up close, Galinda let herself look.
Green, yes. But also sharp. Focused. That infuriating calm of someone who didn’t ask permission to exist.
“Hi again,” Galinda whispered.
Her voice landed sweet. Practiced. Teacher-safe.
She let her gaze dip, just once, to Elphaba’s skin before pulling it away as if she’d caught herself being rude.
“Welcome to advanced track,” she added. “It’s different here.”
Elphaba frowned. “Different how.”
Galinda smiled. “People notice things.” She shrugged lightly. “Presentation matters.”
Behind them, someone snickered. “She probably glows in the dark.”
Galinda didn’t react.
That was the point.
Nikidik stopped by their desk, pleased. “You two should balance each other well. Upland is excellent with instructions.”
“Yes,” Galinda said easily. “I’m very organized.”
Then, quieter, pitched just low enough to sound helpful instead of condescending, “I can help you catch up if you’re still adjusting.”
Elphaba’s head snapped toward her. “I’m not out of place.”
Galinda blinked, wide-eyed. “Of course not.”
She turned back to her paper, expression serene.
Elphaba wrote quickly. Too quickly. Galinda noticed that too. She angled her page just enough to glance over, eyes scanning Elphaba’s work with deliberate slowness.
“You write fast,” Galinda murmured. “Makes sense.”
Elphaba paused. “Makes sense how.”
Galinda tilted her head. “You probably don’t get much room to fall behind.”
More whispers drifted up.
“Why is she even here.”
“Is this a quota thing.”
“She looks like a lab accident.”
Galinda lifted her matcha and took a sip.
“People talk,” she said quietly. “Try not to take it personally.”
Elphaba’s knuckles whitened around her pen.
The bell rang.
Galinda closed her notebook with care, slid her pen into its pouch, and stood. She didn’t rush. She never rushed.
“This will work,” she said calmly. “I’ll make sure we stay on track.”
Elphaba looked up at her. “I don’t need managing.”
Galinda smiled, sympathetic, polished. “Everyone needs help at first.”
From behind them, Milla watched. Not intervening. Just watching.
Galinda gathered her things and stepped away.
“See you next period,” she said softly. “Partner.”
Elphaba didn’t answer.
Galinda stepped into the hallway with her matcha held just so, her smile perfectly balanced, her heart beating a little too fast for reasons she refused to acknowledge. Milla walked beside her, shoulders loose, gaze forward, already clocking who was nearby.
Pfannee spotted them instantly.
“There you are,” she said, sliding between two lockers with the precision of a seasoned gossip queen. “We were waiting.”
Shenshen bounced up next to her. “Well? You survived Chem with the new girl? Tell us everything.”
Galinda’s smile sharpened.
“Oh, it was… enlightening,” she said.
Pfannee clasped her hands. “Do not tell me she talked to you.”
“She had to,” Galinda said lightly. “Nikidik paired us.”
Shenshen gasped. “Paired? Like lab partners?”
“Unfortunately.”
Milla didn’t look down. She stayed exactly where she was.
Pfannee leaned in. “Did she smell weird? I swear someone said she smelled weird.”
“No,” Galinda said. “But she did act like she belonged there.” A pause. “Which is… ambitious.”
Shenshen snorted. “I can’t believe they put her in advanced chem. She looks like she just crawled out of an art supply dumpster.”
Milla stopped walking.
“She went to Bramble Middle,” Milla said evenly. “They feed straight into placement exams. She earned her seat.”
Pfannee blinked. “Do you know her?”
“Yeah,” Milla said. “I do.”
Galinda glanced over, eyebrow lifting. “Since when.”
“Since before she transferred,” Milla said. “She was good then too.”
Shenshen rolled her eyes. “Okay but she’s green.”
“And you’re loud,” Milla said. “We all have traits.”
Galinda laughed softly, as if this amused her. “Relax. We’re just talking.”
“About her,” Milla said. “Not to her.”
Pfannee waved a hand. “She won’t hear. She probably already ran off to cry in a bathroom.”
Galinda lifted her cup for another sip. “She didn’t cry. She wrote fast. Focused. Like she was trying not to fall behind.”
Milla met her gaze. “Or like she knew what she was doing.”
Galinda’s smile cooled. “You’re very invested.”
“I don’t like people piling on,” Milla said. “Especially when they don’t deserve it.”
Shenshen scoffed. “You’re acting like she’s a charity case.”
“I’m acting like she’s a person,” Milla said.
Pfannee looped her arm through Galinda’s. “Either way, she’s going to drag the lab down.”
“She won’t,” Galinda said. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t touch anything important.”
Milla’s mouth tightened. “You don’t get to manage her.”
Galinda tilted her head. “I do when she’s my partner.”
“That’s not how partners work,” Milla said.
For a beat, Galinda just looked at her. Then she smiled again, bright and careful.
“You’re very serious today.”
“And you’re being cruel,” Milla said, not raising her voice.
Pfannee laughed, uncomfortable now. “Okay, wow. This got intense.”
Galinda smoothed her sweater. “People make their own first impressions.”
“And sometimes people decide them for others,” Milla said.
Shenshen muttered, “She still looks like a special effect.”
Milla didn’t laugh.
Galinda didn’t correct it.
She just smiled.
A bright, beautiful, mean smile.
“Let’s get to dance,” Galinda said. “I need to see something normal.”
They moved off together, Pfannee chattering, Shenshen snickering.
They turned the corner toward Studio B, where the dance kids were already gathered in a loose, chatty clump, warming up with half-committed lunges and lazy stretches, music murmuring from a speaker someone hadn’t bothered to turn up yet.
The moment Galinda stepped inside, her shoulders rolled back, her posture resetting into something unmistakably trained. Controlled. Intentional. She passed her matcha to Shenshen without breaking stride, trusting her to keep it safe, and walked toward the mirror at center like the space had always belonged to her.
A few kids straightened automatically.
Someone murmured, “Galinda’s here,” with the same reverence people reserved for opening nights and casting lists.
Pfannee grinned and bumped her hip. “Showtime.”
Galinda didn’t acknowledge it. She didn’t need to. In this room, her confidence wasn’t a performance. It was muscle memory.
Madame Brisbi clapped twice, sharp and efficient. “Warm-up lines, please.”
The room rippled into motion. Bags were shoved aside. Bodies scrambled into place.
Galinda didn’t scramble.
She stepped into the front row, center left, the position she claimed every year without discussion, and set her feet into first position with the ease of someone who had never doubted she belonged there.
The piano warm-up began, steady and familiar.
Galinda moved.
Not the polished hallway version of herself, all charm and softness. This was something sharper. Cleaner. Her turnout snapped into place with surgical precision. Her arms floated with control, strength held just beneath the surface. She caught the music exactly where it lived, never ahead, never behind.
Even Pfannee paused mid–port de bras to watch.
Madame Brisbi gave a single, restrained nod. “As always, Miss Upland.”
Galinda smiled, sweet and deliberate. “Galinda, actually. It sounds better when you say it.”
A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the class, indulgent, admiring.
From the back row, Milla watched without joining in. Her eyes followed Galinda’s lines, her balance, then drifted away, unfocused, like her thoughts were still somewhere else entirely.
Galinda didn’t notice.
She was busy snapping through dégagés sharp enough to slice the air, extending into long, immaculate arabesques that made the other girls subtly adjust their spacing. Busy reminding the room, with every movement, exactly who set the standard here.
Whatever strange, green-skinned transfer student had appeared in her life that morning, Galinda Upland still owned this space.
“Good,” Madame Brisbi said. “Again. From the top.”
Galinda inhaled, pride lifting her shoulders just a fraction.
She didn’t think about Elphaba.
Except she did. A flicker of irritation she hadn’t invited.
Because the pencil comment had landed. Because Elphaba’s expression hadn’t cracked the way it was supposed to.
Galinda drove her leg into a grand battement, higher than necessary for warm-up, clean and unapologetic.
Someone gasped.
Madame Brisbi’s eyebrow lifted, but she let it pass.
Galinda caught her own reflection in the mirror and smiled. Sharp. Satisfied.
She wasn’t done.
Not even close.
—
Elphaba didn’t rush to the cafeteria. She waited out the worst of the hallway crush, then slipped inside once the noise had settled into something constant and unavoidable.
Lunch was already in full swing. Theater kids singing at each other across tables. Art kids comparing paint stains like trophies. Instrument cases crowded the walls.
She claimed an empty two-person table near the side and sat before anyone else could notice it was free. Boq dropped into the chair across from her. Tibbett followed, tray stacked with quiet intention.
Across the room, Galinda’s table was already occupied. Pfannee leaned in close, Shenshen laughing too loudly at something Galinda murmured. Milla sat with them, posture straight, eyes briefly lifting.
She looked at Elphaba once. Then back to her plate.
Elphaba didn’t wave. She sat.
Tibbett slid a fruit cup onto her tray.
She stared at it. “What is this?”
“Lunch,” he said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t eat,” he replied. “Now you have.”
Boq leaned forward. “Did Galinda say something to you?”
Elphaba cracked the fruit cup open. “We’re not doing that.”
Boq nodded, hands up. “Fair. Just know she’s… precise.”
Elphaba took a bite because Tibbett was watching. The fruit tasted fine. She barely noticed.
Across the cafeteria, Galinda laughed. Easy. Polished. Her posture stayed immaculate even when she leaned back in her chair, even when Pfannee said something that made the table erupt. She didn’t look over again.
Elphaba kept her eyes down.
A nearby table whispered.
“She’s greener in this light.”
“I thought that was makeup.”
Elphaba’s shoulders inched higher before she caught herself.
“Ignore them,” Boq said.
“I am.”
He hesitated. “You’re pretending.”
She didn’t answer.
When the bell warning chimed, relief moved through her like a cue she’d been waiting for.
“Next class?” she asked.
“Piano,” Boq said. “Quiet room.”
Quiet sounded survivable.
She stood, shouldered her bag, and walked out with them without looking back.
She didn’t see Galinda glance up as she passed. She didn’t see the way Galinda’s smile paused, she didn’t see her follow Elphaba’s exit with her eyes just a second too long.
Galinda noticed, though.
And that irritated her more than she expected.
—
The piano wing sat at the far end of the arts building, far enough removed that the noise fell away as Elphaba walked. By the time she reached the door, the school felt distant, muted.
Inside, keyboards lined the walls, but the grand piano at the center drew the eye immediately. Polished. Open. Waiting.
Mr. Arren looked up from the stand. “Thropp. Transfer.”
“Yes.”
He gestured toward the piano. “Warm up.”
Boq and Tibbett took seats in the back. Elphaba sat at the bench, fingers finding the keys on instinct. Her shoulders eased as soon as she touched them, the tension of the morning slipping its grip.
She played.
Clean. Certain. No hesitation, no showmanship. Just control built over years. Arpeggios rolled out smoothly. Scales locked into rhythm. A few students glanced up from their own keyboards, then stopped playing altogether.
Mr. Arren turned fully now.
Elphaba didn’t notice. She was already moving into something harder, letting her hands travel where they knew how. The room quieted around her, the listening kind of quiet.
At the door, a figure paused. Pastel sleeve. Perfect posture. Just long enough to register the sound before moving on.
Galinda Upland didn’t step inside.
She didn’t need to.
Elphaba finished and lifted her hands from the keys, breath even.
Mr. Arren nodded once. “You’ll use the grand.”
Elphaba inclined her head and set her fingers back down as he called the next exercise.
Galinda barely had time to towel the sweat from her neck before familiar voices reached her from the hallway.
“Galinda.”
Fiyero’s voice came first, easy and bright, followed by the soft click of Avaric’s camera case being set down with intention. They were waiting outside Studio B, positioned like this was simply where they belonged.
Avaric straightened when he saw her, posture sharpening as if the hallway itself were a lens. Fiyero was already fiddling with the settings on his handheld camera, not filming yet, just preparing.
“There she is,” Avaric said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. His cologne hit her immediately, sharp and overconfident. Galinda held her smile steady even as something in her stomach tightened.
“You were incredible in there,” he went on. “Your lines were so clean today.”
Galinda nodded and let him slide an arm around her waist. It was automatic. Familiar. The choreography of being someone’s girlfriend settling into place without her having to think.
Fiyero lifted the camera slightly. “Give me the look,” he said. “The one like you’re pretending you don’t know you’re iconic.”
Galinda did it without hesitation. A tilt of the head. Eyes drifting just past the lens. She’d been practicing that expression longer than she cared to admit.
Avaric checked the screen and smiled, satisfied. “Perfect. That’s the teaser.”
“For what,” Galinda asked, even though she already knew. She just didn’t want to talk about chemistry yet.
“Our fall short film,” Avaric said. “You’re the obvious lead.”
Galinda swallowed. “The musical schedule might be—”
“You’ll make it work,” he said easily. “You always do.”
He meant it as admiration. It settled on her like expectation.
Pfannee and Shenshen arrived moments later, loud and breathless, perfume cutting through the hallway air.
“Galinda, you were unreal,” Pfannee said. “That battement stopped the room.”
“Thank you,” Galinda replied, warm and polished.
Her smile slipped for the briefest moment when she noticed Milla watching her more carefully than usual, concern threaded through her expression in a way Galinda didn’t want to examine.
Shenshen bumped her shoulder. “So did you tell him about chem.”
Galinda felt her shoulders tighten before she could stop it. Avaric noticed immediately.
“What happened,” he asked.
She didn’t want to explain it. Not because she cared. She told herself that. It was just that something about that class had knocked her balance, and she didn’t like that feeling.
“She just… exists,” Galinda said lightly. “Very noticeably.”
Avaric laughed. “I mean, yeah. Hard to miss.”
Galinda let out a soft laugh that didn’t quite reach her chest. “Exactly.”
Fiyero glanced between them, sensing the shift. “Hey,” he said mildly, “new school, new faces. Everyone needs a minute.”
Pfannee waved a hand. “Chem still sounds like a she made it a nightmare.”
Galinda leaned into Avaric again, because that was easier than unpacking why the image of green fingers on piano keys had stayed with her longer than it should have.
She forced a laugh. “Well… she tried.”
She smoothed the sleeve of her sweater, eyes flicking away. “She kept insisting she wasn’t out of place.”
Avaric scoffed. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong in a class that basic. You’re miles ahead of transfers.”
Something tightened in her chest. Not pride. Not exactly. More like resistance she didn’t have a name for yet.
She swallowed it down.
Girlfriend mode didn’t correct him. Girlfriend mode smiled and kept things easy.
“I’ll manage her,” Galinda said lightly. “Nikidik trusts me.”
Fiyero clapped her shoulder. “That’s our lead. Always in control.”
Galinda smiled because that was the right response. Because that’s who she was supposed to be here.
Avaric pulled her closer, arm snug around her waist, pressing her into his chest. Familiar. Public. Correct.
“There’s my girl,” he said quietly.
Galinda stayed still and let it happen.
Her gaze drifted past his shoulder, down the hall toward the music wing, where the faintest echo of piano scales slipped into the air. Clean. Precise. Unmistakably sure.
Her stomach dipped.
She looked away before anyone could notice. Before she could.
Avaric kissed her temple. “Film club?”
“Of course,” she said, smile back in place.
She followed him down the hall, telling herself the feeling would pass.
They hadn’t gone far before Avaric slowed, attention snagging on a knot of students gathered near the music wing doors.
The buzz was unmistakable.
“Did you hear her play?”
“She’s unreal.”
“Like actually good.”
Avaric’s jaw tightened. He slid an arm around Galinda’s shoulders, casual but possessive, and angled them toward the cluster like this was an invitation rather than a detour.
“Guess we should meet this prodigy,” he said, loud enough to be heard.
Galinda swallowed. She hated that the word lit something warm under her ribs. Hated it more that she noticed.
The crowd shifted, parting just enough for Elphaba to step out of the piano room, bag slung over one shoulder, expression steady and unreadable.
Avaric brightened, performative. “Thropp.”
Elphaba stopped, slow and deliberate, like she was choosing whether this was worth her time.
Fiyero leaned in, already uneasy. Pfannee’s eyes gleamed. Shenshen went very still.
Avaric spread his hands. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
Elphaba blinked once. “That seems unlikely.”
“Oh, no,” Avaric said. “People are acting like you’re some kind of musical revelation.”
Galinda drew in a breath, smile ready, body already bracing to smooth it over.
Elphaba looked at Avaric properly then. Really looked.
“Are you always this threatened by talent,” she asked calmly, “or is today special?”
The hallway sucked in a collective breath.
Somewhere just behind Galinda, Milla let out a quiet, unmistakable sound. Not loud. Not performative. Just a soft, satisfied, “Yes,” under her breath.
Avaric laughed, sharp and humorless. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Elphaba said. She adjusted the strap of her bag. “You walked over here to mock something you don’t understand.”
Someone whispered, “She’s not scared of him.”
Milla nodded to herself, small and emphatic, eyes fixed on Elphaba like she was watching a friend land something difficult.
Avaric’s face flushed. “I make films. That actually matters here.”
Elphaba’s brow lifted. “You hold a camera and expect applause.”
“Bro,” Fiyero muttered, half a laugh slipping out before he caught himself. “Okay, that was—”
Galinda’s heart kicked hard against her ribs. Heat bloomed, sudden and unwelcome, leaving her lightheaded. She hated how much she felt it.
Avaric stepped closer. “You’re lucky Galinda’s in your class. She can make you look less lost.”
Galinda’s mouth opened. She didn’t know what she meant to say.
Elphaba beat her to it.
“Oh,” she said evenly, “is that what she does for you?”
The words landed clean and devastating.
Shenshen clapped a hand over her mouth. Pfannee whispered, “Oh my god.”
Milla didn’t cover her smile this time.
Galinda’s pulse spiked. She became acutely aware of Avaric’s arm, his weight, his closeness. It felt wrong in a way she didn’t have language for.
“You don’t know anything about us,” Avaric snapped.
Elphaba shrugged. “I know what I see.”
And Galinda felt seen in a way that made her throat tighten.
Avaric scoffed. “You think you’re tough because you play piano.”
“I think I’m tough,” Elphaba said, “because I’m not letting you talk to me like that.”
The hallway rippled with movement, whispers sparking and spreading.
Galinda stood frozen, the part of her that knew how to intervene locked behind expectation and fear. She should have defended him. She should have corrected Elphaba. She did neither.
Milla shifted closer to the edge of the group, chin lifted, presence firm. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to.
Avaric turned to Fiyero. “Say something.”
Fiyero lifted his hands, awkward. “Man, you kinda walked into that.”
Avaric stared at him, then back at Galinda.
Her hand slipped free of his arm without her noticing.
Elphaba didn’t linger. She met Avaric’s glare once more, unbothered, then stepped sideways into the flow of students moving down the hall.
She was gone in seconds.
Avaric rounded on Galinda immediately. “What was that.”
She blinked. “What was what.”
“You let her embarrass me.”
“I wasn’t part of it.”
“You’re always part of it,” he snapped. “You’re my girlfriend.”
The word hit her like a script she’d forgotten her line in.
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically, eyes dropping to the floor. She hated how easy it was.
Pfannee and Shenshen exchanged a look, concern flickering before disappearing again.
Milla stayed exactly where she was, gaze steady on Galinda now, not unkind. Just disappointed.
Avaric kept going, voice low and furious. “It looked like you agreed with her.”
Galinda froze.
Because a small, terrifying part of her had.
“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He exhaled, satisfied. “Good. Because that was embarrassing.”
Her shoulders folded inward, confidence draining out of her posture until she barely recognized herself.
Avaric took her hand again, lifting it like he was restoring order. “Come on. Film Club.”
She followed.
Not because she wanted to.
Because staying was easier than admitting why her chest had burned when Elphaba refused to shrink.
Fiyero fell into step beside her, voice low. “He’ll cool off.”
Galinda nodded, smile fixed in place.
Behind them, Milla watched her go, then glanced once more down the hall in the direction Elphaba had disappeared.
She smiled to herself.
Just a little.
—
The last bell sent everyone spilling into the lot at once.
Avaric kept Galinda’s hand in his as they walked, his grip firm and familiar in a way that made her feel slightly off-balance. She trailed a half step behind, concentrating on keeping her breathing even.
Across the lot, Boq and Elphaba were loading up. Boq waved when he spotted Fiyero. Fiyero waved back, easy and genuine, like this was already a habit.
Galinda clocked it without meaning to.
She was bracing for a quick goodbye. A hug. Something efficient.
Avaric stopped instead.
“So,” he said, loud enough to carry, “let’s make it obvious we’re good.”
Galinda frowned. “Make what—”
He didn’t wait. He cupped her face and leaned in.
The kiss was long. Lingering. Deliberate.
Too much.
His hands were heavy at her cheeks, his mouth insistent, his closeness pressing her into place like a mark being made. She stayed still and did what she always did. Hands to his shoulders. Smile ready behind closed lips. Hold. Endure. Perform.
Inside, everything pulled tight.
She became aware of being watched without wanting to know by whom.
She pulled back first.
Avaric smiled, pleased. “See? We’re good.”
Fiyero snorted. “Man, you don’t have to announce it.”
Shenshen laughed. Pfannee leaned in, whispering something Galinda didn’t catch. Milla’s eyes stayed on Galinda, concern plain and unhidden.
Galinda smoothed her skirt and forced her voice steady. “Yeah. We’re fine.”
Avaric draped an arm over her shoulders again like nothing had happened. “Text me later.”
She nodded, already knowing she wouldn’t.
Across the lot, Boq’s car pulled out with a familiar sputter. Elphaba glanced over once as it did, just a brief, unreadable look before turning back to the window.
Galinda’s pulse jumped, sharp and inconvenient.
Fiyero leaned in, quieter now. “You okay?”
“Of course,” Galinda said, smiling because it was expected.
Her stomach sank.
She didn’t ask herself why.
—
Galinda slammed the front door harder than she meant to. The house echoed in quiet judgment.
“Ginda home!” Valinda yelled from somewhere inside.
A blur of curls and chaos launched itself at her knees. Valinda. Three years old. Mismatched socks. Tutu over pajamas. No notes.
“Up!” she demanded.
Galinda scooped her automatically. Valinda clung like a koala, cheek mashed against Galinda’s neck, smelling like vanilla shampoo and crayons. Galinda breathed in despite herself and felt something in her chest unclench.
Larena appeared, hands dramatically pressed to her heart. “My girls. My stars. My emotionally complex icons.”
“I was gone for seven hours,” Galinda said.
“Seven hours too many,” Larena replied.
Idina stepped into view behind her, holding a very full wine glass.
Larena pointed at it. “It’s two thirty.”
“It’s grape juice,” Idina said, taking a sip that was deeply unserious.
Valinda grabbed Galinda’s face with sticky hands. “No grump.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
Valinda squinted. “Grump.”
Larena nodded solemnly. “She’s gifted.”
Galinda shifted her weight. “I’m going upstairs.”
Larena gasped. “Without greeting your mothers properly?”
“You’ve greeted yourselves enough,” Galinda muttered.
Idina snorted into her glass.
Larena leaned in. “Did Avaric do something? Did someone insult your dancing? Did the universe disappoint you?”
“It’s fine,” Galinda said too fast.
Idina cut in. “It’s not.”
Valinda tugged Galinda’s hair. “Lin-da sad?”
“No,” Galinda said. “I’m tired.”
Larena cupped her face. “Did something happen at school?”
“Nothing happened,” Galinda snapped.
Larena blinked. “You’re snapping.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She handed Valinda to Larena and headed for the stairs.
“Galinda,” Idina said calmly, “you’re using the voice.”
“What voice.”
“The prickly one,” Idina said. “The don’t-look-at-me-I’m-feeling-things voice.”
“I just want to be alone.”
“You’re sixteen,” Idina said. “You always want to be alone.”
“Exactly,” Galinda said, and disappeared upstairs.
Her door clicked shut. She collapsed face-first onto her bed and groaned into the pillow.
Downstairs, Valinda chewed thoughtfully on her fist.
Larena watched the stairs, eyes shining. “Our daughter is having her gay awakening.”
Idina took a long drink. “Better now than at twenty-nine.”
Larena sighed. “Avaric is not ready for this.”
“No one is,” Idina said, then glanced at her glass. “Also. Definitely not grape juice.”
Galinda woke up already braced for impact.
She dressed with intention, choosing a pastel sweater for effect, layering lip gloss until it felt like armor, braiding her hair tight enough to ache. She grabbed her nicest bag because image mattered and because weight helped when she didn’t want to think. By the time she reached the kitchen, she’d already decided that today would be about control.
Larena paused mid-sentence and smiled. “You look radiant.”
Idina glanced over her mug. “You look like you’re planning a hostile takeover.”
“Normal,” Galinda said.
Valinda slapped her spoon against the tray. “Ginda mad?”
Galinda kissed the top of her head. “Perfect.”
She left with her headphones in and nothing playing, drifting through the halls like she was above the noise, above yesterday, above the memory of a kiss that had felt wrong in a way she refused to unpack.
At school, Pfannee and Shenshen rushed up immediately, gossip already lining their mouths. Galinda cut them off with a crisp dismissal, and they stalled in surprise before peeling away. Milla fell into step beside her instead, sketchbook tucked under one arm, gaze sharp and awake. Galinda acknowledged her with a brief nod that ended any invitation to talk, then kept moving.
By the time she reached Chemistry, she was perfectly composed.
She arrived first, claimed her seat, and set her notebook down with care. Milla took a chair a few rows back, posture relaxed but observant, her attention flicking easily around the room. Elphaba entered last, quieter than the others, bag slung over one shoulder, expression neutral in a way Galinda found irritating. She sat without looking around, as if she’d already decided the room wasn’t worth reacting to.
Nikidik rolled in the lab cart, listing materials as he went. Beakers. Droppers. Enzyme packets. Then the pitcher of water.
Elphaba’s body reacted before her face did. It was subtle enough that most people wouldn’t have noticed, a fractional lean back, shoulders drawing in, her grip tightening around her pencil. Not panic. Calculation. Galinda caught it immediately.
Nikidik set the pitcher down at their station, oblivious, and moved on with his instructions. Elphaba didn’t reach for it. She didn’t even glance at it, keeping her eyes fixed on her notes as if the water wasn’t inches away. When Nikidik stepped away, she shifted again, controlled and deliberate, increasing the distance between herself and the table just enough to matter.
Galinda smiled.
She leaned in, voice smooth and pleasant. “I’ll do the water. You can handle the enzymes.”
Elphaba stiffened. “I can measure it.”
Galinda tilted her head. “Do you want to?”
There was a pause, brief but unmistakable. Elphaba reached for the enzyme packet instead, fingers careful and precise. Galinda lifted the pitcher herself, unhurried, letting the water slosh just enough to test the space. Elphaba’s jaw tightened, her hand freezing mid-motion as she leaned back another inch.
Galinda poured slowly, watching from the corner of her eye. The shallow breathing. The rigid stillness. She stirred the solution with unnecessary flourish, keeping the pitcher close without touching Elphaba, close enough to be felt.
“You’re jumpy today,” Galinda said lightly.
“I’m fine,” Elphaba replied, her voice flat.
“Yesterday you were bolder,” Galinda said. “Guess it depends on the setting.”
From the back row, Milla looked up, eyes narrowing, not confused or alarmed but alert, tracking the exchange with quiet precision.
Nikidik called for them to compare results. Elphaba wrote quickly, pen pressing hard enough to leave an impression on the page. Galinda closed her notebook and leaned back in her chair, studying her.
“You watch everything like it might hurt you,” she said, not cruel, not kind, simply observant.
Elphaba blinked, caught off guard. “What.”
“It’s noticeable,” Galinda replied easily.
Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable. Milla’s gaze shifted to Galinda now, steady and unreadable.
Galinda had what she needed. Not an answer, not yet, but the outline of something important. Elphaba Thropp didn’t go near water, and Galinda didn’t know why, only that it wasn’t nothing. She told herself she shouldn’t care.
She cared anyway.
Galinda stormed out of Chemistry like momentum alone might carry her past whatever had just happened. Her notebook was pressed to her chest, braid snapping against her shoulder, stride clipped and unforgiving.
Milla fell in beside her without asking.
“You’re spiraling,” she said plainly.
Galinda didn’t slow. “I’m not.”
“You hovered over Elphaba like you were waiting for her to break, snapped at Pfannee, and didn’t blink during the demo. That’s not your normal.”
Galinda shot her a look. “Why are you watching me?”
“Because you’re being obvious,” Milla replied. “And because I know you.”
Galinda stopped short, irritation flashing. “Nothing is wrong with me.”
“Then why are you acting like someone hit a nerve.”
Silence. Just long enough.
Milla didn’t soften. “Is this about Avaric or Elphaba?”
Galinda stiffened. Not dramatic. Complete. People detoured around them.
“Don’t,” Galinda said quietly. “Say her name.”
Milla nodded once, like that told her everything. “Okay. Then let me say this instead. You don’t poke people unless they matter to you, and you don’t care this much unless something’s off. So stop pretending I’m imagining it.”
Galinda folded her arms, chin lifting. “You’re reading into nothing.”
“I’m not,” Milla said. “I’m clocking a pattern.”
Galinda looked away, breath tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine,” Milla said immediately. “But don’t lie to me and call it fine.”
Galinda hesitated, just a beat, then turned and kept walking.
“Don’t bring it up again,” she said.
Milla watched her go, unbothered but concerned. “I won’t,” she called after her. “Until you do something even louder.”
Galinda didn’t turn back.
And she hated that the only face stuck in her head wasn’t Avaric’s.
The hallway between third and fourth period buzzed with the usual Shiz chaos. Galinda moved through it untouched, posture perfect, expression immaculate. Anyone watching saw confidence. Power.
Only Milla would’ve recognized the panic under it.
Boq was shoving his notebook into his bag when Galinda clocked him. Wrong place. Wrong moment.
“Move,” she said, without slowing.
He jumped aside, too late. Her shoulder clipped his backpack and papers scattered across the floor.
“Sorry,” Boq said, reflexive.
Galinda laughed softly. “You’re sorry for what? Taking up space like you’re allowed to?”
Boq flushed. “I wasn’t in your way.”
“You always are,” she replied. “That’s kind of your defining trait.”
Pfannee and Shenshen paused, watching. Milla’s stomach dropped.
Boq crouched to gather his papers, hands shaking.
“I didn’t—,” he muttered.
Galinda tilted her head. “Exactly. You don’t do anything. You just hover and hope someone notices you.”
Even Pfannee winced.
Boq looked up, eyes wide. “Did I… do something to you?”
Galinda smiled. Sweet. Lethal. “No. I’m just done pretending you’re not embarrassing.”
A few students nearby went quiet.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “And stop orbiting Elphaba like she’s your shield. It’s pathetic.”
Boq swallowed. “I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were,” Galinda said. “It’s sad.”
A snicker rippled.
“Galinda,” Milla said quietly, firm. “Enough.”
Galinda didn’t look at her. “He asked. I answered.”
Boq scooped up the last page and stood. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He just walked away, fast, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself.
Galinda flipped her braid back, already done with it.
“That was brutal,” Pfannee said.
“It was accurate,” Galinda replied.
Milla stepped closer. “You don’t have to tear people down to stay standing.”
Galinda met her gaze with practiced calm. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Milla didn’t argue. She just watched her.
Galinda walked on, telling herself she felt powerful. In control. Untouched.
Behind her, Elphaba’s friend was still trying to put himself back together.
And somehow, that knowledge didn’t make her feel better at all.
—
Study hall lived in the old choir room, the one with cracked tiles and chairs that wobbled no matter how carefully you sat. A few dancers marked steps along the back wall. Someone near the windows whispered monologue lines into a book. Everyone else pretended to study.
Elphaba took a seat near the wall, spread out her chemistry notes, and tried to disappear into them.
Boq slid into the chair across from her. Tibbett followed, already chewing on a granola bar he definitely wasn’t supposed to have. Neither of them spoke.
Elphaba paused. “What happened?”
Boq stiffened. “Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
Tibbett didn’t look up. “His ears are doing the thing.”
Boq groaned. “Can we not?”
Elphaba leaned forward. “What happened?”
He sighed, eyes dropping to his worksheet. “It was Galinda.”
Elphaba went still. “What did she do?”
“She went off on me in the hallway,” Boq said quietly. “Said I’m always in the way. That I hover around you. That you’re not my protector.”
Tibbett added, too casually, “She also called him pathetic.”
Boq winced. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”
Elphaba set her pen down. “Where is she?”
“No,” Boq said immediately. “Do not go after her.”
“She humiliated you. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you escalate,” Boq said. “You always do.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” Tibbett said, mouth full.
Elphaba ignored him. “She had no right.”
Boq shook his head. “It wasn’t really about me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she was already upset,” he said. “I was just there.”
Tibbett nodded. “It’s connected to you. She’s been weird since chem.”
Elphaba blinked. “Why would it be about me?”
Boq gave her a look. “Have you met yourself? You walked into chem and she forgot how to function.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does,” Tibbett said. “Just not to you.”
Boq leaned in. “I’m fine. It sucked, but I don’t want you confronting her. It won’t help.”
Elphaba leaned back, arms crossed, jaw tight. It took a moment.
Then she nodded. “Fine.”
Boq exhaled in relief. Tibbett relaxed, though he kept one eye on her anyway.
The room slipped back into its low hum. Dancers moved. The monologue kid whispered the same line again. Tibbett missed the trash can with his wrapper.
Elphaba stared at her notes without seeing them.
Galinda had watched her too closely in chemistry. She’d been sharper than necessary. Now she’d gone after Boq for no reason.
Something was wrong.
And Elphaba knew she wasn’t going to let it go.
Boq’s house had always felt like a place that remembered you. Patterned curtains that never matched, floors that creaked in familiar ways, and walls crowded with photos from every school play, family picnic, and chaotic holiday morning. The smell of garlic and oregano drifted from the kitchen, warm and unavoidable.
The front door barely finished opening before Boq’s mother pulled Elphaba into a hug. “Elphaba, sweetheart, you look thin. Eat.” A plate of garlic knots appeared in her hands before she could argue.
She’d grown up in this house almost as much as Boq had, so none of it felt strange.
They settled into the living room under an unreasonable number of blankets. Snacks covered the coffee table. Crope claimed the floor like it was a stage. Tibbett took the armchair. Elphaba sat beside Boq on the couch, because that had always been the rule.
The TV flickered to life, launching straight into a sci-fi disaster that took itself extremely seriously.
Ten minutes in, the aliens introduced themselves through aggressive interpretive dance.
Tibbett leaned toward Elphaba. “Be honest. Does this make you want to leave your body?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Same.”
Crope clutched his chest. “Philistines.”
Before she could respond, the sound of small feet thundered down the hall. Three children burst into the room like a controlled demolition.
“Boq!” Zib, nine and completely feral, climbed straight onto the back of the couch.
“Boq, we got ice cream!” Pip, six, held up a half-melted pint like a prize.
Lulu didn’t say anything. She toddled directly to Elphaba, climbed into her lap, curled in, and went limp with the absolute confidence of a child who’d known her forever.
Tibbett smiled. “They really love you.”
“They see me every week,” Elphaba said, adjusting Lulu so her head rested against her chest.
Boq groaned as Zib hung upside down. “They only love people who aren’t me.”
“That’s because you only use your inside voice twice a year,” Crope said.
From the kitchen, Boq’s mother called, “Zib, get off the furniture. Lulu, don’t smother Elphie, she needs oxygen.”
“I not smothering,” Lulu mumbled, already half asleep.
Elphaba looked down at the tiny, warm weight on her and then at Boq. “You need a leash.”
“They chew through leashes,” he said.
The movie limped on through jazz-handed diplomacy and catastrophic special effects. Zib eventually collapsed into a beanbag. Pip made repeated sugar runs. Lulu slept through everything, fingers curled into Elphaba’s sleeve.
By the time the credits rolled, Tibbett stretched. “That was awful.”
Crope sat up, victorious. “That was cinema.”
Boq gently nudged Lulu’s foot. “I’ll take her.”
She clung tighter.
Elphaba sighed. “I’ve got her.” She stood carefully, carried Lulu to bed, tucked her in, and lingered just long enough to make sure she settled.
When she came back, backpacks were already being gathered.
Crope clapped his hands. “Before we leave, we have business.”
Boq groaned. “Please don’t.”
“We’re going to the house party tomorrow night.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are.”
Tibbett shook his head. “I don’t like parties.”
Crope grinned. “Free pizza. Bad music. Poor decisions. It’s destiny.”
Tibbett sighed. “If someone brings a ukulele, I’m leaving.”
Crope turned to Elphaba. “You.”
“I’m not going.”
“You are.”
She looked at Boq and Tibbett. They watched her like she might save them or doom them.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not talking to anyone.”
“Perfect,” Crope said. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Boq slung on his backpack. “This will end badly.”
“Absolutely,” Tibbett agreed.
Outside, the night air cooled her skin as Crope threw the door open with unnecessary drama. Elphaba followed, already exhausted.
She knew one thing for certain.
Galinda Upland would be at that party.
And that was going to be a problem.