Chapter 13
By Friday, their project was done.
They turned it in before class, setting the binder down on Dillamond’s desk without so much as a word to each other. It should have felt like a relief—one less thing to worry about—but instead, it left an uncomfortable emptiness hanging between them.
Glinda should have been happy. They had worked hard. Their argument was strong. Dillamond had even nodded approvingly as he skimmed through it.
But she wasn’t happy. She was restless.
Elphaba, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered.
She had barely acknowledged her all morning, her usual sharpness dulled into something distant, something that made Glinda’s stomach churn. And worst of all—Glinda let her.
She didn’t know why she expected anything different. Maybe she thought that, once the project was over, they’d talk. Actually talk. But instead, Elphaba was already gathering her things, leaving the classroom like none of it had ever happened.
And Glinda hated how much that bothered her.
Pfannee and Shenshen were waiting outside, chattering about weekend plans. The moment Glinda stepped out, Pfannee linked arms with her. "Thank Oz that’s over. I don’t know how you put up with her."
Glinda stiffened, something hot flaring in her chest. "It wasn’t that bad."
Pfannee raised an eyebrow. "Not that bad? She’s the worst."
Glinda didn’t respond. Because she wasn’t sure she agreed anymore.
From down the hall, Elphaba was already disappearing into the crowd, her shoulders tense, her pace quick.
And Glinda had the sudden, overwhelming urge to follow her.
Glinda wasn’t okay.
She had spent the entire afternoon going through the motions—smiling when she was supposed to, nodding along to conversations she wasn’t really hearing. But the restlessness hadn’t left her. If anything, it had gotten worse.
It all came to a head when she got home. She had barely set her bag down before her chest tightened, breath coming too fast, hands gripping the edge of the counter as a dizzy wave crashed over her.
Not now. Not again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pull herself out of it, but her body wasn’t listening.
And then, she remembered.
The empty classroom. The steady voice. The warm hand wrapped around hers.
Follow me. In for four. One, two, three, four.
Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to do it. In for four. One, two, three, four.
It took a few rounds, but eventually, the fog started to lift. Her pulse slowed, her grip on the counter easing as the air felt less suffocating.
It worked.
It actually worked.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her phone.
Glinda:It works.
She hovered for a second, then added—
Glinda:The breathing thing. Just now. It helped.
She wasn’t expecting a response right away. Maybe not at all. But less than a minute later—
Elphaba:Good.
Glinda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Glinda:Thanks.
There was a pause. Then—
Her phone buzzed again.
Not a text this time. A call.
Her breath caught as she saw the name on the screen. Elphaba.
For a second, she just stared at it. Then, before she could think too hard, she answered.
"Hey," she said, voice still a little shaky.
There was a pause. Then, carefully, gently—"Are you okay?"
Glinda swallowed hard. She had been fine a second ago—or at least, better. But hearing Elphaba’s voice, hearing the way she asked like she actually cared—something in her wavered.
"I—I am now," she admitted, voice quiet.
Elphaba exhaled softly on the other end, like she wasn’t sure what to do with that. "Good."
Neither of them spoke for a second.
Glinda shifted, curling into herself a little. "I didn’t think you’d call."
Elphaba hesitated. "I wasn’t going to. But then I thought… I don’t know."
Glinda smiled a little. "That’s not very like you."
A breathy chuckle. "No. It’s not."
Another pause—longer this time, heavier, but not uncomfortable.
"You don’t have to stay on the phone," Glinda said, voice softer now. "I just… I really do appreciate you checking up on me."
Elphaba was quiet for a moment, then—"I’ll stay. If you want."
Glinda’s heart stuttered.
She nodded, even though Elphaba couldn’t see it. "Yeah. I’d like that."
And so, they stayed.
The silence stretched, not heavy, not awkward—just there. For once, it didn’t feel like they were waiting for the other to say something first.
But then Glinda exhaled, shifting in bed. "Can you… talk to me? Just—about something?"
Elphaba hesitated. "What kind of something?"
"Anything," Glinda admitted. "Just… distract me."
Elphaba was quiet for a moment, then—"Track practice sucked."
Glinda blinked. "That’s your opener?"
"You said anything."
A small, breathy laugh escaped her. "Alright, fine. Why did it suck?"
Elphaba sighed dramatically, and Glinda could picture her rolling her eyes. "Because Coach decided that today was the day we all had to suffer. Eight-hundred-meter repeats. Back to back. I think I actually saw my life flash before my eyes."
Glinda hummed. "Tragic."
"Completely."
Glinda curled further into her blankets, focusing on the steady rhythm of Elphaba’s voice. "And what else? Any big plans for the weekend?"
"Besides not moving for the next 48 hours?" Elphaba snorted. "Not really. Crope and Tibs are trying to drag me to some café they won’t shut up about, but we’ll see if they succeed."
Glinda smiled softly. "You should go."
"Why?"
"Because you need more fun."
Elphaba scoffed. “I’m plenty fun.”
For the first time in a long time, Glinda didn’t feel so lonely.
Elphaba wasn’t used to this.
The boys were looking at her like they knew something. Like they were just waiting for her to crack.
"So, what was holding all your attention all night?" Tibbett smirked, stabbing his fork into his food as he leaned forward. "You were suspiciously absent from our usual nonsense in the group chat."
Elphaba rolled her eyes, shoving a piece of bread into her mouth so she didn’t have to answer immediately.
Crope wasn’t fooled. "Oh, come on. You never miss our late-night chaos. We were all waiting to plan the weekend, and you didn’t text. What were you doing?"
Elphaba sighed, setting down her drink. "Can we not?"
"So defensive," Tibbett teased, grinning. "Oh Oz, was it Glinda?"
Elphaba stiffened.
Silence.
And that was all the confirmation they needed.
Boq’s eyes widened. "Wait. It was?"
Elphaba immediately scowled, shoving her tray back. "I hate you all."
Crope practically cackled. "That’s not a no!"
Tibbett clutched his chest dramatically. "Our Elphie? Falling for the cheer captain? Oh, this is rich."
"I am not—" Elphaba started, but she didn’t get to finish.
Because suddenly, across the cafeteria, voices were raising.
All of them turned.
At the far end of the room, Fiyero stood in front of his usual table—the football team’s table—and it didn’t look friendly.
The guy across from him—Avaric, of course—had his arms crossed, his expression smug. "Come on, man. You can’t actually expect us to believe that."
Fiyero’s jaw was tight. "Believe what? That I like guys too? That I always have?"
Avaric scoffed. "Okay, but like—why say it now?"
Fiyero’s eyes flickered, just for a second, to Glinda across the cafeteria.
Elphaba noticed.
Avaric continued, shaking his head. "This some weird post-breakup crisis thing? Because you were just with Glinda."
"Yeah, and I care about her. That doesn’t change anything," Fiyero shot back. "I’m still me."
One of the other guys—Rikkard—leaned back in his seat, unimpressed. "That’s cute and all, but maybe you should go sit somewhere else."
Silence.
It was subtle, but it was there. A shift. A decision.
Fiyero nodded once, something unreadable flashing across his face. "Yeah. I got it."
Then, without another word, he turned—and walked away from them.
Straight toward Elphaba’s table.
She raised an eyebrow as he approached. "Need a seat?"
Fiyero exhaled, sliding into the open spot next to her. "Guess I do."
Tibbett, for once, wasn’t teasing. "You good?"
Fiyero’s jaw clenched, but his voice was steady. "Yeah. Just got a new lunch table, that’s all."
They let the words settle. Then—
Crope shrugged. "You should’ve just come over ages ago. We’re way more fun."
Fiyero let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. Maybe."
But across the room, Glinda wasn’t laughing.
Because she had seen it happen. Had watched the way Fiyero was shut out so easily.
She suddenly understood just how much she had to lose.
Glinda barely spoke for the rest of lunch.
Pfannee and Shenshen noticed—of course they noticed—but they just assumed it was about Fiyero. They filled the silence with gossip, with speculation, with noise, and Glinda let them.
Because if she spoke, if she actually let herself process what had just happened, she might unravel completely.
That could be me.
The thought wouldn’t leave her alone. It looped, over and over, pounding in her head until she felt like she might actually be sick.
So she did what she was best at. She pretended.
She smiled at the right moments. She laughed—forced, brittle, but passable. She let Pfannee’s voice drown out her own thoughts, nodding along even when she barely heard a word.
And she didn’t look at Elphaba.
Not once.
Glinda made excuses. Small, subtle, but deliberate.
She lingered longer at her locker between classes. She took the long way to the gym, to the library, to everywhere. She stayed close to Pfannee and Shenshen, even when she didn’t want to, because it meant not being near Elphaba.
And Elphaba noticed.
Glinda felt it—every time she passed her in the hallway, every moment she had to actively keep her gaze forward, every second that felt stretched too thin.
Elphaba wasn’t stupid. And Glinda wasn’t subtle.
At one point, between classes, she heard Crope’s voice carrying across the hall. Teasing, smug.
"Someone’s been in a mood today."
She didn’t hear Elphaba’s response—if she even gave one. She didn’t let herself hear it. She just walked faster.
Glinda curled into her blankets, staring at the soft glow of her phone screen.
Her messages were open. Elphaba’s name at the top.
She typed.
I’m sorry for—
Today was just—
Are you—
She deleted all of them.
She set her phone face-down on the mattress, exhaling sharply. Her heart was still too fast.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
Fiyero had texted her earlier. Just a simple hey, you okay?—and she hadn’t answered.
Her fingers hovered over his name now, but she didn’t text him back either.
Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about green skin, sharp eyes, a steady voice that had once pulled her out of this exact spiral.
But it wasn’t working.