Elphaba was whisked away to a private compartment before the excess paper from the conductor's punch could fall to the ground. She stood dumbly in the middle of the compartment for a moment before struggling to stow her battered suitcase in the luggage cabinet . She took out her dusty volume and began to look for her place, then decided against it. The train intimidated her. She had been raised a strict Unionist and had never left Rush Margins, except to stay with her grandfather, the Eminent Thropp, but he also ignored the technological advancements of Oz, at least those that did not involve weaponry. Elphaba unlaced her boots and cast them aside. They hid the side of the train with a soft thud. She looked outside the window of the train and watched the cars go by on the freeway next to the train. She had only ever heard of the Yellow Brick Highway, and she had never seen a car in real life. Well, she had seen them once or twice at the Governor's Mansion, but she was too young to remember. She slid out of her black stockings to reveal slender, verdant legs with strong, defined muscles, and pointed knees. She laid back on one of the seats against the compartment's cold metal door and stared vacantly out the window. She took the silken ribbon out of her hair and let it fall into her face.
She reflected on the reason why they had escorted her to a private compartment that her ticket could not afford. It was obviously because she was green. Oz bragged that it had eliminated racism. Bullshit. She pulled out a pen from her suitcase and began to write. It was all scribbling. Observations, the beginning of a research paper, her name. It was a strange sort of coping mechanism for Elphaba. The rhythm of the pen scratching out her words on the train that evenly ran along its track soothed her.
She had discovered poetry in her fourth year of primary school. After Chapel, she ran outside the school's grounds and climbed into a tall apple tree. She pulled a ripe fruit off of one of its higher branches and watched the school from her perch. After 10 minutes, a pair of scholars visiting from central Munchkinland reclined under the tree's ample shade. Elphaba listened as they spoke to each other in rhyme. And she was hooked. She read all the religious poetry that her father had provided her with. He was reluctant at first, but he was an evangelist first and foremost. As she grew older, she delved into previously banned texts written by Animal authors and Ancient Ozian poets of the time before the Great Drought.
Walking out of the lavatory, Elphaba came upon a discarded magazine. She had never seen nor read one before. She rolled it up, shoved it under her arm and sped back to her compartment. Once she was in her compartment, she flopped onto the seat and slowly turned the magazine over in her hands. She admired the shine of the pages and the bright colors. The few magazines that her father subscribed to were biannually published on newsprint with simple graphics, and comprised predominantly of the sermons of well regarded priests from the High Unionist Church in the Emerald City. This magazine was nothing like she had ever seen. There was a beautiful model on the front page and there were articles about fashion and beauty, as well as current events and best selling books. Elphaba was awestruck by the magazine. She read it cover to cover and back again. It was called Ladies Quarterly, and Elphaba decided that the woman who wore the new silhouette and drank tea in swanky boutiques was a complete idiot, but people would accept her.
And then Elphaba was faced with another decision. Who would she be? As it turned out. She did not have to wait long to find out.