Chapter 32
Larena was waiting for her. Of course, she was.
Glinda barely had time to shut the front door before her mother’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and furious.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Glinda stiffened, forcing herself to stand tall. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Larena scoffed. “Don’t play dumb with me, Glinda. I got three more calls today. Three. Parents asking if their daughters should even be associating with you. Telling me their families don’t want to be connected to some disgraceful scandal.”
Glinda swallowed, nails digging into her palms. “It’s not a scandal.”
“Oh, really?” Larena stepped closer, voice cold. “Then why is the entire school talking about it? Why am I getting calls about my daughter being some kind of—”
“Say it.” Glinda’s voice snapped, something inside her breaking apart all at once. “Go ahead. Say it.”
Larena’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You are throwing away everything we’ve worked for.”
Glinda let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Right. We. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it?”
“You don’t understand what you’re doing—”
“No, you don’t understand.” Glinda’s voice rose, shaking. “I’m gay.”
Silence.
It slammed into the room, thick and suffocating.
Larena’s face went blank.
Glinda’s breath came fast, her hands trembling at her sides. “Did you hear me? I. Am. Gay.”
Larena’s jaw tightened. “No.”
Glinda’s stomach twisted. “No?”
“No,” Larena repeated, her voice like steel. “You’re confused.”
Glinda laughed bitterly. “Confused? Confused? I have never been more certain of anything in my life. I’m gay. And I love Elphaba Thropp.”
“You are not—”
“I am.” Glinda stepped forward, voice unwavering. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Larena’s nostrils flared. “We’ll see about that.”
Glinda clenched her fists, chest heaving. “I’m not changing, Momsie.”
Larena’s eyes burned into her, but Glinda didn’t look away.
She wouldn’t run from this.
Not anymore.
Glinda had barely made it through the day. Her mind was spinning, her chest tight, her hands trembling as she drove home.
By the time she got to her room, she could barely breathe.
She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt, trying to hold herself together.
But it wasn’t working.
Her breaths came too fast, too shallow. Her vision blurred.
Everything was too much. The whispers at school, the threats from Pfannee and the others, her mother’s sharp voice on the phone, the fact that Elphaba still wasn’t talking to her—
She clenched her fists, pressing them against her temples, trying to force it all away.
And then, suddenly—a hand on her back.
Gentle. Steady.
She flinched, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Hush, now, Duckie,” came Ama Clutch’s voice, soft and warm. "You're alright."
Glinda let out a broken sound, half a sob, half a gasp. “I—can’t—”
Ama sat beside her, rubbing slow circles on her back. “Breathe, sweetheart. Deep and slow. With me.”
Glinda tried. Inhale, exhale. Deep. Slow.
And little by little, the world stopped spinning.
They sat there in silence for a while, Glinda pressed against Ama’s side, clinging to the familiarity of it.
When she could finally speak, her voice was small. “She won’t talk to me.”
Ama hummed knowingly. “She will.”
Glinda’s throat tightened. “What if she doesn’t?”
“She will,” Ama repeated. “She just needs time.”
Glinda pressed her face into Ama’s shoulder, voice barely above a whisper. “Momsie’s furious.”
Ama sighed. “She’ll come around.”
Glinda let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Ama said gently. “She loves you, Duckie. She’s just scared.”
Glinda sniffed, curling further into her. “Ama.. I think I love her.”
Ama’s hand paused on her back for just a moment before she gave her a small squeeze.
“Oh, Duckie,” she murmured. “I know.”
Glinda’s breath hitched.
Ama pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a stray curl from her face. “And you should tell her.”
Glinda swallowed hard, searching her face. “But what if—”
“No what-ifs.” Ama cupped her cheek, smiling softly. “You love her. And she deserves to know.”
Glinda had blinked rapidly, tears welling in her eyes.
For the first time all day, she let herself believe it might be okay.
Elphaba didn’t remember falling asleep, but she remembered waking up. The weight in her chest already there—not creeping in, not slow, just present, like it had been waiting for her. There was no transition between sleep and consciousness, no moment where she forgot what happened. It was just there, pressing against her ribs, heavy, suffocating.
And then the words came back.
You’ve never been loved at all.
She stared at the ceiling, her body unmoving beneath the covers. Her fingers twitched against the fabric, barely curling inward. Not clenched. Not relaxed. Something in-between, like her body hadn't decided whether to hold itself together or come apart.
She heared it again, the way Glinda spat the words out, deliberate and cruel, not an accident, not a moment of unchecked emotion. She had meant them. She had wanted them to hurt. And they did. But what made it unbearable, what made Elphaba’s chest ache and her throat tighten, is that Glinda wasn’t wrong. She had said it because it was the truth. Elphaba had known it all along.
Her hands slid up her arms, fingers pressing into her own skin, the bite of her nails grounding her for just a second. It didn't help. Nothing did. So she let go and let the words settle in.
She moved through the morning on autopilot. Her hands going through the motions—clean up, uniform, bag slung over her shoulder—while her mind remained elsewhere. The world outside was gray and wet from last night’s storm. The damp air clung to the windshield of her car as she slid into the driver’s seat, her fingers tightening around the cold steering wheel.
She didn't turn on the heater.
She didn't turn on the radio.
She drove in silence.
The houses blurred together, streetlights flickering past as she navigated the familiar route to school. She wasn't thinking about anything, wasn't focusing on the road or the weight in her chest. And then—
A flash of white and chrome.
Her stomach twisted before she even fully registered what she saw.
Glinda’s car, parked outside a coffee shop, the windshield fogged from the warmth inside. And Glinda—Elphaba didn't want to look, she knew she shouldn’t, but her eyes flickered toward the window against her better judgment. There she was, sitting at a corner table, cradling a steaming cup in her hands, smiling at something or someone out of sight.
She looked fine. Warm. Safe. Happy.
Like nothing was wrong.
Elphaba’s grip tightend on the steering wheel, her knuckles aching from the pressure. Her breath caught in her throat, too sharp, too sudden. She blinked, and for a second, her vision swelled, the road ahead blurring. It took every ounce of willpower to look away, to press her foot against the gas, to keep driving. She didn't look back. Didn't let herself.
Elphaba found herself in the library. The chair beneath her was hard, stiff against her back. The book in front of her open, untouched, the pages meaningless. Her hands resting on the table, fingers lightly pressed against the paper, but she hadn't turned a page in over an hour. She wasn't reading, not really. She was just looking.
A chair scraped against the floor.
Then another.
She didn't move, didn't react, but she knew who it is before they even sat down.
Crope. Tibbett. A pause, then Boq.
They didn't speak right away. She barely registered their presence. It wasn't until something slid across the table—something small, something wrapped in paper—that she glanced downward.
A muffin.
Beside it, a bottle of water.
“You haven’t eaten.” Crope’s voice was quiet, careful.
She didn't answer.
“You need to eat, babe.” Tibbett’s voice was softer.
Her fingers twitched against the edge of the book.
“You don’t have to talk to us,” Boq mumbled, hesitant, watching her. “But we’re not leaving.”
The words settled between them, an unspoken choice.
She should say something, she didn't, but they stayed anyway.