Chapter 7
Glinda drove home with the top down, the wind tugging at her curls as she maneuvered through the familiar roads. The drive was muscle memory, but her thoughts were everywhere. The day had left a strange weight in her chest—small things she couldn’t name but couldn’t shake. The moment at lunch. The look in Elphaba’s eyes. The fact that Glinda hadn’t wanted to look away.
She pulled into the long, pristine driveway of her family’s estate, the golden light of early evening making everything seem almost surreal. She parked, lingered in the driver’s seat a moment too long, then finally exhaled and grabbed her bag.
Inside, the house was spotless, curated, a picture of perfection. Dinner was already being prepared, the smell of something decadent filling the air. Her mother was somewhere in the house, probably on a call, while her father remained absent as ever.
Glinda climbed the grand staircase to her room, kicking off her shoes as she went. She turned on her vanity lights, sat down, and stared at her reflection. Her phone buzzed—a message from Fiyero. She ignored it, reaching instead for her hairbrush, slowly working through the tangles the wind had left behind. She needed to focus. She needed to be herself again.
Elphaba’s drive home was just as familiar, but the scenery was different. She maneuvered through the quiet roads leading toward Thropp Manor, the grand estate that had housed her family’s political dynasty for generations. The sun cast long shadows across the manicured gardens as she pulled into the stone-paved driveway, her car sliding into its usual spot in the long driveway, lined with a fleet of other meticulously maintained vehicles.
Inside, the house was too large, too cold, too structured. The hallways were lined with portraits of past governors and dignitaries, her family’s legacy displayed in thick gilded frames. A reminder of what she was supposed to uphold.
She passed the formal dining room, where dinner was already being served. Frex was seated at the head of the table, discussing policy with three guests she didn’t recognize. He didn’t acknowledge her, and she didn’t expect him to.
Elphaba climbed the long staircase to her wing of the house. The second she reached her room, she exhaled, shutting the door behind her. Here, at least, she could exist without expectation.
She swapped her uniform for sweatpants and a loose-fitting tee, pulling the ties from her braids and running oil through them with careful, practiced ease. The motions were mechanical, something to focus on. Something to keep her mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.
Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand—a message from Boq. She ignored it.
Then, without thinking, she glanced toward the window.
It was stupid, pointless. Like she expected to see something there.
She sighed, flopping onto the bed, one arm draped over her eyes. She needed to get it together.
The school day had passed in a blur, each class dragging in a way that felt painfully slow. Neither of them had acknowledged it, but both had felt the weight of something—an odd, lingering nervousness that neither could place.
By the time the final bell rang, they had gone their separate ways—Glinda to cheer practice, Elphaba to track. It was exhausting, the push to be perfect, the demand for every move to be right, every second to be faster. By the end of it, they were both drained.
Still, they’d both gone home, cleaned up, changed, and stuck to their plan.
Now, standing at Glinda’s front door, Elphaba exhaled sharply before knocking. This shouldn’t have felt strange—but it did.
Glinda answered quickly, dressed in soft lounge clothes, hair still damp from her post-practice shower. She looked tired—but in a way that somehow suited her.
“You look exhausted,” Elphaba noted flatly.
Glinda scoffed. “And you look like you regret knocking.”
Elphaba smirked, shifting her weight. “I do.”
Glinda rolled her eyes but stepped aside, letting her in. The house was just as pristine as Elphaba had imagined it would be—too perfect, too curated.
They made their way toward a quieter sitting room, where textbooks were already laid out on the table. The tension was still there, hanging somewhere between them, but neither of them acknowledged it. Not yet.
Glinda flopped onto the couch first, stretching out with an exaggerated sigh. “If you expect me to actually function after today, you’re out of luck.”
Elphaba sat down, flipping open a book. “Then this’ll be fun.”
Glinda smirked but didn’t argue. She stretched once more before sitting up. "Wait here." Without explaining, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Elphaba blinking after her.
A minute later, she returned with a small tray—two glasses of water, a bowl of grapes, and a plate of cookies that looked almost too perfect to be store-bought.
Elphaba arched a brow as Glinda set the tray down between them. "You expecting company?"
Glinda rolled her eyes, picking up a cookie and taking a dramatic bite. "I’m being hospitable. Unlike some people."
Elphaba huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but she did take a grape. "Shocking."
Glinda leaned back against the cushions, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "If I start snoring, just throw a book at me."
Elphaba smirked. "Noted."
A beat of silence stretched between them, comfortable in a way that still felt strange. Glinda shifted slightly, eyes flickering to the textbook in front of her before she exhaled, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip.
"Hey," she said softly, hesitant in a way Elphaba wasn’t used to. "I—um. I just wanted to say—I know I haven’t always been… the nicest person."
Elphaba blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. "Okay?"
Glinda sighed, pulling her knees up onto the couch. "I— I said things. Snide things. I laughed when Pfannee and Shenshen made jokes. I talked about you when I shouldn’t have." She looked down at her hands, then back up. "And I’m sorry for that."
Elphaba studied her for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her sharp gaze. She had never thought of Glinda as cruel. Thoughtless, maybe. Wrapped up in her world of golden perfection, too comfortable to challenge the people around her. But not cruel. Still, hearing the apology now—quiet, genuine—it sat strangely in Elphaba’s chest. Then, with a slow exhale, she leaned back against the couch. "Well, you weren’t the worst. But thanks, I guess."
Glinda rolled her eyes but smiled softly. "High praise."
Elphaba smirked. "I try."
Glinda exhaled, then straightened her back, reaching for her notebook. "Alright, we should probably get some actual work done before I completely lose the ability to function."
Elphaba arched a brow but flipped open her textbook. "You mean before you start trying to convince me to do all the work?"
Glinda huffed. "I’m contributing."
"Oh?"
Glinda shot her a look before flipping a few pages. "Okay, so I was thinking—if we focus on the ethical dilemmas in Ozian history, we could narrow it down to—"
"The Animal rights movement?" Elphaba interjected, tapping her pencil against her notebook. "It’s relevant and there’s enough material to break down different perspectives."
Glinda nodded, chewing on her lip. "Yes, and we could analyze how Pertha’s portrayal changed over time—what parts of her story were lost or rewritten to fit a certain narrative. She was seen as a radical at the time, but in reality, she was just ahead of the curve."
Elphaba tilted her head slightly. "That’s… actually solid. If we can find primary sources that contradict modern accounts, we can show exactly how history reshaped Pertha’s legacy—whether it was to diminish her impact or twist her into something she wasn’t."
Glinda beamed. "I do have thoughts, you know."
"Debatable."
Glinda swatted at her arm, but Elphaba just smirked, jotting down notes as they finally settled into the project, the tension between them shifting into something more productive.They worked in comfortable silence for a while, notes filling the pages between them. The exhaustion from the day still lingered, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was steady, easy, a rhythm they somehow fell into without realizing.
Glinda glanced at Elphaba out of the corner of her eye, watching the way she tapped the end of her pen against her notebook when she was thinking. She’d always assumed Elphaba was just… harsh. Distant. But now, sitting across from her, seeing her focused, engaged, not completely insufferable, it struck her how wrong she’d been.
Elphaba wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t cold. She just didn’t waste words the way Glinda and the others did.
Across the table, Elphaba sighed, pushing her notes aside. "Alright. I think that’s as much as my brain can take tonight."
Glinda smirked. "I didn’t know you had a limit."
Elphaba rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she stretched, arms over her head, and for a second, Glinda caught herself staring. She wasn’t nearly as unbearable as Glinda had convinced herself she was.
"I’ll clean this up," Glinda offered, standing and stacking their books.
Elphaba hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks."
They lingered for a second too long, an odd weight hanging between them. Not uncomfortable. Just… different.
As Elphaba gathered her things, she caught herself thinking something she hadn’t expected:
Maybe Glinda Upland wasn’t as awful as she’d thought.