Chapter 2
Monday came too fast. The weekend faded into a mess of unfinished assignments, restless thoughts, and the lingering headache of having been perceived for far too long.
Elphaba kept her head down, hoping the night would disappear into irrelevance like all the others.
But Crage Hall had a habit of remembering everything.
And Glinda Upland was still looking at her.
Elphaba felt it before she saw it—felt the shift in the air, the pause before attention landed where it never had before. She looked up from her locker, and there she was.
Glinda, standing just down the hall, watching.
Elphaba raised a brow, waiting for the inevitable look away.
But Glinda didn’t.
Instead, she tilted her head, considering.
And then she smiled—small, quick, but real. Like she knew something Elphaba didn’t.
Elphaba blinked.
And before she could even think of a reaction, Glinda turned and walked away.
Leaving Elphaba with a very, very bad feeling about all of this.
Between classes, the hallways of Crage Hall were a battlefield of whispered gossip, perfectly executed hair flips, and social maneuvering so sharp it could draw blood.
Glinda strolled between Pfannee and Shenshen, perfectly poised, every movement deliberate. The morning had been spent in an endless stream of chatter—who hooked up at the party, who drank too much, who had humiliated themselves beyond repair.
Glinda wasn’t really listening.
She was watching her.
Elphaba stood at her locker, flipping through her textbooks, entirely unbothered by the chaos around her. She didn’t try to shrink back. She didn’t move faster. She just existed, and somehow, that was enough to throw the natural order off balance.
“Goldie, you’re spacing out again.” Pfannee’s voice was sing-songy, but sharp underneath. The nickname had started as a joke—something Crope had called her once at a party, marveling at her golden curls and how she always seemed to glow under the right lighting. Pfannee had seized on it, turning it from a compliment into a tease, a constant reminder that Glinda was expected to be the golden girl, the one who never faltered, never lost focus. And now, whenever she wasn’t perfectly in step with their world, they made sure to bring her back to it.
Glinda blinked, shifting her attention back to her friends. “Just thinking.”
Shenshen followed her gaze, lips curling into a smirk. “Thinking about the party? Or thinking about her?”
Glinda scoffed, rolling her eyes for effect. “Oz, don’t be ridiculous.”
But she didn’t deny it.
On the other side of the hallway, Elphaba slammed her locker shut, eyes flickering toward Boq, Crope, and Tibbett, who were all loitering nearby.
“She’s looking at you again,” Boq muttered, leaning against the wall.
Elphaba barely spared him a glance. “Who?”
Boq snorted. “You know who.”
Tibbett elbowed Crope, who was already grinning. “It’s kinda weird. Like, is she planning something?”
Crope nodded sagely. “The girl doesn’t stare at people unless she wants something.”
Elphaba sighed, tucking a book under her arm. “Then let’s all hope she gets the message, I've got nothing to give.”
She walked past them, heading toward class, ignoring the way her skin burned from the attention she refused to acknowledge.
Elphaba slid into her seat in Ethics & Morality, tucking herself into the farthest corner of the classroom as usual. Out of sight, out of mind.
Professor Morrible, a stiff woman with a gaze that could peel the confidence off even the most well-bred Crage Hall student, was already writing the day’s discussion points on the board.
Across the room, Glinda perched perfectly in her seat, legs crossed, pen twirling between her fingers. She had an ease in this class, a confidence that came with always knowing she was right.
Elphaba hated that about her.
Morrible turned, scanning the room. “Today, we will be discussing societal responsibility in the context of moral absolutism versus moral relativism.” She smiled—sharp and thin. “And I suspect we may have quite the conversation.”
Elphaba leaned back in her chair. She already knew how this was going to go. Glinda would speak first, her voice like spun gold, delivering some perfectly worded argument that sounded profound but lacked weight.
And sure enough—
Glinda raised her hand.
“Elphaba,” Morrible’s voice cut through the air before Glinda could even speak. “Why don’t you start us off?”
Elphaba blinked. What.
She saw it then—the flicker of something smug on Glinda’s face. Like she had planned this.
Elphaba narrowed her eyes and exhaled through her nose before sitting up straighter. “Moral absolutism is a naive construct. No situation is ever truly black and white—context will always influence morality.”
Glinda raised an eyebrow, lips curving ever so slightly. “So you’re saying nothing is ever right or wrong? There are no real consequences?”
Elphaba’s jaw tightened. Oh, Oz, she wanted a fight.
Morrible watched them with interest, a knowing gleam in her eye. She lived for this.
Elphaba forced a sharp smile. “I’m saying people like to pretend morality is a universal constant when really, it’s just a reflection of whatever benefits them most.”
Glinda tilted her head, as if pondering. “That’s a very cynical way to live.”
“And you live in a very convenient world where nothing ever challenges you.”
Glinda’s lashes fluttered, but her smile remained. “Careful, Thropp. You almost sound like you’re jealous.”
The air in the room shifted. A few students looked up from their notes.
Elphaba’s smirk was slow and deliberate. “Jealous? Of what?”
Glinda leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, voice just low enough to be something only Elphaba could hear. “Everything you pretend not to want.”
Elphaba refused to react. Refused to give Glinda the satisfaction.
Morrible clapped her hands once. “Excellent discussion. Let’s keep it moving.”
Glinda straightened, turning her attention back to the class like nothing had happened.
Elphaba let out a slow breath.
She was going to kill her.
Elphaba didn’t think the day could get worse. She should’ve known better.
History of Oz was always a tense subject for her—too much whitewashing, too much pretending that past oppressions were just misunderstandings.
Professor Dillamond, at least, was different. He encouraged debate, let students question things. Which was probably why Elphaba was the only person who actually enjoyed this class.
She settled into her seat, flipping open her notebook. And then Dillamond spoke:
“You’ll be working in pairs for your semester project.”
A collective groan went up from the room. Elphaba ignored it—until Dillamond’s next words made her stomach drop.
“I’ve already assigned your partners,” Dillamond announced, adjusting his glasses as he scanned a list. “Boq and Avaric. Crope and Tibbett.” He paused. “Shenshen and Pfannee.”
Glinda barely listened, already assuming she’d be paired with someone effortless—someone she could charm into doing most of the work.
Then—
“Elphaba and Glinda.”
Elphaba’s grip tightened around her pencil, the wood creaking in protest.
She froze.
A chair scraped beside her.
Glinda set her bag down with far too much ease.
“Looks like we’ll be spending so much more time together, Thropp.”
Elphaba clenched her jaw. Murder was illegal.
Dillamond continued, unaware of the silent war already brewing. “Your task is to analyze a historical figure and present a case for how history may have misrepresented them.”
Elphaba stared straight ahead. Of course. Of course this was happening.
Glinda nudged her notebook toward her. “So… shall we?”
Elphaba exhaled sharply. “Let’s just get this over with.”
This was going to be an absolute disaster
The first mistake was assuming they could work together in public.
Glinda had insisted on meeting at the campus library—neutral ground, brightly lit, plenty of distractions. It was the logical choice.
It was also the worst idea either of them had ever had.
Elphaba sat with her arms crossed, glaring at the open book between them. Glinda twirled her pen between her fingers, perfectly unbothered.
“This isn’t going to work,” Elphaba finally said.
Glinda hummed, barely glancing up. “What, teamwork? I’d have to agree.”
“No, this.” Elphaba jabbed a finger at the book. “Dorothea Callis? Are you serious?”
Glinda blinked at her, offended. “She was a visionary.”
“She was a socialite with a flair for theatrics. Her ‘philosophies’ were nothing more than grand speeches designed to make the upper class feel generous.”
Glinda scoffed. “At least she was influential. Unlike—who did you pick? Some obscure radical who got arrested?”
Elphaba’s nostrils flared. “Shaymus Vey was a political strategist—”
“Oh, Oz, spare me.” Glinda waved a dismissive hand. “If I have to listen to you rant about corrupt historical narratives, I’m going to fall asleep.”
Elphaba sat back, rubbing her temples. “This is why Dillamond assigned partners. He knew we’d argue ourselves into an early grave.”
Glinda smirked. “I think he just enjoys watching you suffer.”
Elphaba let out a slow breath. “Fine. Compromise. We find a figure with actual depth.”
Glinda tapped her fingers against the table, considering. “What about Lurline?”
Elphaba made a face. “Are you trying to make me combust?”
Glinda grinned. “Maybe.”
They lapsed into silence, scanning through their notes. The air between them wasn’t hostile exactly—it was charged. Like they were both waiting for the other to crack first.
Glinda sighed dramatically. “Well, if we’re going to be miserable together, we should at least make it easier to communicate.”
Elphaba eyed her warily. “Meaning?”
Glinda pulled her phone out, sliding it across the table. “Numbers. Don’t act like you don’t have one.”
Elphaba hesitated for a second before sighing and entering her number. She slid the phone back without looking at Glinda, but the blonde was grinning like she’d won something.
Elphaba scowled. “It’s for academic purposes only.”
“Of course,” Glinda said sweetly. “Purely professional.”
Elphaba had a very bad feeling about this.
Their partnership was off to a terrible start.
They had burned through at least ten different historical figures before reaching something resembling common ground. It had taken nearly an hour of sharp rebuttals, exasperated sighs, and one brief moment where Elphaba looked like she might throw her book across the room.
Finally, Glinda leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Fine. What about Lady Pertha?”
Elphaba hesitated. “The former diplomat?”
“Yes.” Glinda perked up. “She reformed trade laws and negotiated peace during the Thrain Uprising, and she was a known advocate for social justice.”
Elphaba tilted her head, considering. “She also leveraged her influence to keep certain voices silenced.”
Glinda sighed. “Oz, can’t we pick someone without a dark side?”
Elphaba smirked. “That would be historically inaccurate.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Glinda let out a dramatic groan. “Fine. Pertha it is.”
Elphaba nodded. “Pertha it is.”
Glinda tapped a note into her phone, then glanced at Elphaba. “Well, partner, I suppose we should schedule a time to actually do the work.”
Elphaba raised a brow. “You actually plan on contributing?”
Glinda gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “I am an excellent student.”
Elphaba snorted. “Sure.”
Glinda smirked and held up her phone. “Lucky for you, you now have the honor of being in my contacts. I’ll text you.”
Elphaba groaned, already regretting everything.
Glinda grinned. She was enjoying this far too much.