She knows he's perfect the moment she lays eyes on him. His dress is of the finest material and he has a servant who waits on him. He's gorgeous, too. His features are strong yet gracefully positioned on his face in such a way that one might also describe him as pretty, but not feminine. His jaw is a perfect rectangle and juts slightly forward. His hair is gold and appears to have been freshly cut – no pieces astray, not the least bit shaggy, shimmering flaxen wisps, each in its place. He has been lifted from the illustration of a storybook. Breathe life into the handsome prince , and you have Fiyero, six feet tall, firm biceps and torso muscles that ripple beneath his vest.
The timing is spectacular. He's just what she's been wishing and for — she was about to succumb to the temporary mania she believed herself to be plagued with when he arrived.
There will be no surprises. She will introduce herself. She will smile, beam, giggle, stare up at him from beneath heavy lids and long lashes. He will invite her to the ball happening at the Ozdust, they will dance, she will link her fingers behind his neck and rub gently with her thumbs. He'll tighten his hold on her waist and pull her towards him. She'll smile and sigh, and lean into his hold, and then she knows he'll kiss her. His hand will slide from her hip to the small of her back, and then to her neck. And when he does, she'll shut her eyes, tilt her head, breathe swiftly through her nose, and open her mouth to let his eager tongue inside.
But the art of being coquettish when mania is involved proves to be very difficult. His hands are heavy on her waist, and his neck is sweating. He pulls her closer, but his movements are stiff and cumbersome. Her chest is smashed against his. The smile she feigns quivers on her lips and threatens to disappear. He kisses her before she can take a breath and her eyes fly open. But his are closed, and his mouth is still on her, so she tilts her head and opens her mouth, which Fiyero proceeds to explore her with his fat tongue. Galinda wonders, as she does whenever a boy kisses her, why people love to kiss so much.
When she pulls away she glances around to smile at her friends and the girls who whisper about her as jealousy pours from their eyes. It's all to be expected. There's always a script and it's always the same. Perhaps other girls enjoy kissing boys because they don't already know the boy will kiss them. Galinda always knows. Perhaps that is the downfall of being gorgeous and popular: no mystery, no novelty, no wondering if he feels the same say. He does. They all do. It's easy. But not for other girls, Galinda decides, and that's why they must love the sloppy, uncomfortable act of kissing.
Galinda doesn't wonder if it could ever be different. But the dreams she can't control do. And they wouldn't bother Galinda so much if they did not make themselves so prevalent during her waking hours. The dreams aren't new, after all. Galinda remembers being six years old and dreaming about the twelve-year-old daughter of her parents family friends. But it wasn't really a kiss. It was a brush of the lips, no tongue.
As an adolescent Galinda dreamt about the high society women she saw on the street or at her parents' parties, whose mouths were just as soft in her dreams as she imagined them to be when she saw them in real life.
It never bothered her back then. Seconds after waking she would shiver. Her insides would tingle and her entire body felt warm. But as soon as she showered and dressed herself for the day, the dream would be nothing but a wispy disintegrating memory. The details faded quickly, and while Galinda would remember that she had dreamed, she could not recall the face of the girl or woman she'd dreamed about.
Except now. When she won't leave Galinda's mind. It's one thing to fantasize about a woman while asleep -- those are dreams, who can control them? But while awake... Galinda should have more control over this. This must be remedied. She cannot spend her remaining years at Shiz with the permanent feeling of post-dream shivers and tingles. It's distracting. It's too much. There must be some way treat this uncomfortable and now resident feeling. Something to convince Galinda that she isn't losing it.
The chattering of students has ceased and Fiyero's eyes aren't on Galinda. She follows his gaze to the awkward green girl standing at the center of the ballroom. A girl who, despite sharing a room with and thinking about more often than is healthy, Galinda barely knows.
Galinda chews her lip. She casts fleeting glances at the man whose arms are around her, but her gaze returns to Elphaba, who has decided that if no one else will dance, she will. And it's mesmerizing. Slow, fluid, undulating movements that Galinda has never seen before.
This must be stopped. Elphaba is making a fool of herself, and it would be good of Galinda to end it. The tingling makes it difficult to move, but the hum of people snickering and whispering is growing louder. Galinda thrusts herself onto the dance floor, interrupting the green girl's motion. They stare at each other, and Galinda hears blood pounding in her ears. Elphaba is waiting. And Galinda moves. She raises her arms above her head in the same fashion Elphaba had, and repeats the dance cautiously. The corner of the green girl's mouth twitches, a smile? Galinda draws a deep breath she hopes will fill her with confidence. But Elphaba is dancing too, and now its as if Galinda isn't nervous. She mirrors Elphaba. Twirls around her. Faces her. They smile. Twirl around each other again. Goosebumps rise when the wind from Elphaba's skirt brushes Galinda's leg. And when it's over Galinda does what she once thought unthinkable. She reaches for Elphaba's arm, runs her fingers down Elphaba's forearm to her hand, and entwines their fingers.
They stare at their hands, in awe of how well they fit together.
Galinda's face emits heat and she's sure her cheeks must be the same hue of pink as her dress. She let's go of Elphaba's hand.
"I enjoyed dancing with you, Galinda." Elphaba smiles.
Galinda's mouth is slightly open. She nods and steps backwards before turning and nearly running into Fiyero, who seems to be amused by what has transpired.
"Befriending the string bean," he observes as his hands settle heavily around her waist, "very good of you."
"Please don't call her that." Galinda murmurs beneath her breath.
He kisses her. And for a moment she feels something. The tingling in the pit of her stomach is not nearly as severe as it was when she was dancing, but it's still there. Her hand feels warm and slightly naked, like her hands felt whenever she stopped wearing rings she'd worn for years. But she and Elphaba's hands had been joined for less than a minute, less than thirty seconds even.
Galinda rises to her toes to whisper in Fiyero's ear that she's tired. He offers to walk her to her room, but she shakes her head no. He plants a final kiss on her face before he lets her go, and she hurries to the door she saw Elphaba disappear through moments before.
"Elphaba!" she calls to the green girl, who is nearly halfway to their dormitory. Elphaba waits until the smaller girl catches up and falls in stride beside her.
"I thought you'd be spending the evening with your date tonight."
"Yes, well, I'd rather…" Galinda is breathless from hurrying to catch up, "stay in."
Elphaba nods. A smile twists her lips and Galinda can't help but return it. They walk in silence, Galinda playing with her own fingers nervously and Elphaba casting sideways glances at her that Galinda pretends not to notice.
"Galinda," Elphaba says as the pair steps into their room.
"Yes?"
"I've never really had any friends."
Galinda watches, without blinking or breathing, as Elphaba unbraids her hair and combs through it with her fingers.
"That's… that's terribly sad, Elphie," Galinda says, and she's immediately embarrassed by the nickname she hadn't intended to pass her lips.
The green girl turns to smile at Galinda, who is seated on her bed with her eyes fixed on the ground. Elphaba laughs and Galinda looks up.
"You're pink," Elphaba muses.
"What?" Galinda looks at her hands.
"No," Elphaba smiles again. "Your face, you're blushing."
Galinda covers her cheeks with her hands and sighs. She crosses her legs in an attempt to quell the tingling, and vows not to look at Elphaba from now on. Her smile makes Galinda nauseous.
"What's wrong?" Elphaba is standing directly in front of Galinda. She tips Galinda's chin upwards with her thumb and let's her fingers rest gently on Galinda's flushed cheek.
"I…"
They hadn't ever spoken much before this. But suddenly Elphaba wants to talk and Galinda is slightly unnerved.
"I'm going to…brush my hair." Galinda announces. And Elphaba watches, bemused and entertained by her roommate's strange behavior.
Galinda scurries to the bathroom and shuts the door. She pulls the pins from her hair and runs her fingers through it. She braces herself on the edge of the counter and draws a deep breath. She'll go to bed, she decides. She'll sleep, and she will undoubtedly dream, but when she wakes that's all it will be: a dream and nothing more.
Elphaba is standing when Galinda emerges. She's staring, the corner of her mouth turned up into a slight smile that makes Galinda feel so heavy her legs can't carry her.
"I don't know what you're staring at." Galinda says, sounding quite perturbed. And she is. The tingles have taken permanent residence in the pit of her stomach and her hands are sweating.
And then a hand is in her hair, cradling the base of her skull and drawing her nearer. She tries to gasp but her mouth is covered by soft lips that capture her upper lip gently and then pull away.
Galinda's breathing is ragged. She stares at the floor and her eyebrows come together.
"Galinda…"
Galinda's palm makes a loud crack when it collides with Elphaba's cheek.
Elphaba moves quickly as she gathers her books and throws her jacket around her shoulders. She disappears through the door and Galinda sits in silence.