She stood at the table focusing on making the spool of thread disapear. My heart was in my throat purely because of awe. Elphaba wasn't particularly impressed with herself, but I couldn't believe it. Madame Morrible praised the girl greatly, clasping her shoulder. "Wonderful job, Miss Elphaba. I knew you could do it."

The old batty woman's fish eye turned to me. "Are you ready to give it a try, dearie? Don't be surprised if you can't do it. Miss Elphaba makes it seem easy."

Try as I might, I couldn't get the damned spool to vanish. Something my odd, ugly roommate could do so easily, I was rendered incapable of. No, not my odd, ugly roommate. My unusual, strangely charming roommate. She wasn't ugly, not at all. Part of my mind had insisted that she be considered ugly, because I knew I was beautiful. It was not a skill of mine, it was the luck of the draw. I could've easily been the one with green skin and her the beauty. Yet I held the beauty over her head, because that was the only thing I excelled at.

She walked with me back to out dorm. "Don't be discouraged. I've been taking Madame's class longer than you."

"You beat me at everything." I heard my voice whine.

"I do not." She insisted.

"Name one thing I'm better at than you. Name one thing I can beat you at." She began to open her mouth, but I clarified. "Name something that has nothing to do with my appearence that I am better at than you."

She pursed her lips, thinking but gave up. "Well, we're always on the same side, so I can hardly say." She grabbed my hand. "Why does it matter if we're working on the same things?" She smiled at me, but I couldn't get her accomplishments out of my head. Every time she scored higher on an exam than me, everytime she corrected a mistake of mine.

I pushed the thought out of my mind. "I suspose you're right. It doesn't matter." Of course, Miss Elphaba is right. She always is, isn't she?

---

We stood with the broom between us. For the first time since our friendship had began, I became aware that we were standing on opposite sides of the line. We were opposing each other. We were not working for the same thing.

She wanted to do the right thing.

I wanted to do the safe thing.

---

I stood opposite her, me in my fancy gown, her in a tattered black dress. She held her head high. She was a woman in love, with a cause, with a purpose. It gave her strength.

I was merely a pretty face. I stood for nothing and had nothing. No, I had something. I had a wand in my hand that I couldn't even use.

She didn't even need the damned wand to have power. Now she held her high, smiling. She didn't hide the fact that everything I tried, I failed. While she didn't always succeed, she always accomplished more than me.

In the days that followed, and the days after, they all told the tale of her. Oz loved her because she gave them something to hate. Oz hated her because she was strong, and better than any of them.

I was the second fiddle, the dull beacon of goodness.

I was the symbol of goodness. But she was goodlier than me.