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Taking place in pages 79-81 of Wicked

Disclaimer: Wicked and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.

“Surprise, not beauty,” Elphaba said firmly. “It’s just surprise. ‘Well, what do you know.’ It’s not beauty.”

“Who am I to argue?” said Galinda, half-jokingly, and to her surprise—and somewhat to her horror—both she and Elphaba laughed.

“Anyway, not beauty,” Elphaba said as she returned the hat to its box. “Now, I—”

“Just one second, would you, Miss Elphaba?” Galinda surprised herself with that question—she was getting a lot of surprises tonight.

Elphaba, whose hand had already been halfway to her book, paused.

“Miss Elphaba—oh, don’t you have some other name; ‘Elphaba’ takes up too much room in my mouth!”

“I would rather be simply Elphaba,” Elphaba replied drily. “Although if you wish we may drop the honorifics, which I frankly find rather tiring.”

“Fine, then. Elphaba, it would do me the greatest of pleasures if I could try to give you a makeover.”

Elphaba put down her book and slowly looked up. “Miss Galinda,” she said—the honorific was back again, Galinda noticed—“I am sure that I must have misheard you.”

Galinda shrugged. “No, really. I like giving makeovers, and since you look so—so—”

“Horrifying?”

“So unique, it would present a real adventure for me! Please, Miss Elphaba the Delirious? Please.”

“I think not.”

“I think you will,” Galinda said, shocked at her own boldness, “or else I shall tell my friends that you tried on that hat. And I will bring them here and if needed they will hold you down so they can see how you look. If you allow me to put just the tiniest bit of makeup on you, then you can scrub it all off and nobody but us need ever know.” She smiled, charmingly, she thought. “Just our little secret.”

Elphaba looked vaguely revolted. “Miss Galinda, for the final time—”

Galinda put her hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, all right then! But make this fast, for I am frightfully tired and would like to go to sleep.”

Tired so suddenly, Galinda thought, but scurried about the room collecting her array of beauty implements. In truth, she had no idea if Elphaba would turn out pretty or a clown. But it would be interesting to see, and it also would be most fun. “Now,” she announced, steering Elphaba into a chair, “prepare to be amazed.”

“That is precisely what I dread most.”

Galinda laughed again, surprised to realize that she was starting to find her roomie’s odd way of speaking actually rather amusing. “You know, I don’t think I have any foundation that would work for you,” she murmured.

“No surprises there,” Elphaba said. “So we’re done, then?”

Galinda pushed her back down. “I think not. You have fine skin, whatever the color; I don’t think we need any sort of base, especially if you’re going to scrub it all right off.” She inspected Elphaba’s face. Well, I’ll work my way down, I suppose.” She peered in close and Elphaba recoiled. “Stop that—wow. How do you get your eyebrows to be like that?”

“Like what?”

“They have such an interesting shape, and so perfectly done too.”

Interesting eyebrows? “I was born with them, if that’s what you’re asking. I was born the way I am, and I’ve done nothing to change anything.”

Galinda was envious. What right had this girl to be born with perfect eyebrows? And why was she jealous of Elphaba? She went down to the eyes. Elphaba recoiled again as Galinda aimed a—something—at her.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Galinda, those are my eyes you’re pointing things at.”

“I know. This is eyeliner. Stop being such a baby and let me do this already. You agreed to it. Besides”—what eyeshadow would work for green skin?—“it’s not like I even have to put so much on you; you have natural coloring.”

“I think we’ve all noticed that.” But she was quiet as Galinda proceeded to put her in paint an inch thick, it seemed like. For the life of her she could not understand why any girl would want to do this for hours every day (sometimes she wondered if she was a girl at all, or just something that looked somewhat female). Also, this much contact. How could anybody bear it; it made her skin crawl.

Oddly, Galinda was feeling exactly the same way: she was finding it horribly uncomfortable, this closeness to Elphaba, and she didn’t know why. It gave her the shivers, but not precisely in a bad way. More like—like she must be hallucinating, she told herself as she flicked a brush over Elphaba’s cheekbones (Galinda envied those too); a dark green/purplish combination of tones seemed to be what suited her. Very interesting.

“I don’t have any lipstick in your colors, though,” she mused aloud, and considered what to do next.

“You could always leave me this way,” Elphaba suggested.

“No, no, no! I finish what I start—most of the time, anyway. I’ll find something to do.” She looked through her supplies. “Well, if it’s only for a short time perhaps I can use the eyeshadow.” She didn’t want to get the brush wet, though, so after a moment of hesitation she decided to use her finger. “You had better look good, or at least interesting in this, Miss Elphaba Thropp,” she warned, “because I am about to put my finger into my eyeshadow and get it all purply.”

“Poor Miss Galinda, stuck with a purply finger!”

“Stop moving your lips!”

Elphaba clamped them shut.

“No, open them just a little bit, so I can color them.” Elphaba obeyed, and Galinda ran her finger over Elphaba’s lips. All perfectly permitted for cosmetic purposes, she told herself; nothing wrong here. She went over them again, to even and smooth the color, and then snatched her had back.

Elphaba was staring at her curiously. “Are you all right, Miss Galinda? You looked like you were in pain, for a minute there. I’ve heard people say that I make their eyes burn, but I hadn’t thought I could actually injure.”

“You—you haven’t,” Galinda heard herself say. “I mean, you can’t. And you’re actually not that ugly.”

Elphaba raised one eyebrow.

Galinda shrugged and turned away quickly so that she could clean her hand and continue. The face itself done, she went on to Elphaba’s hair. “You have such lovely hair,” she said admiringly. “Actually, I’m quite envious of it. Although of course I would never give up being a blond.” She experimented for a few minutes, then decided to leave it down. “There! All done.”

“Be nice if I could see it. I’m sure not going out in the hall like this.”

That when Galinda remembered. “Oh, I do have a mirror. I should have remembered; I always like to have one on me—”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Mirrors: never leave home without it!” She laughed. “Elphaba, here! Look.”

When actually faced with the little compact mirror Elphaba wasn’t so sure. “I don’t really like to look at myself,” she said cautiously.

“Oh, but you must!” said Galinda. “You have to see yourself now, you’re beautiful!” Only as she said it did she realize that she was thinking it.

Elphaba blinked. “Pardon?”

Galinda nodded. “Truly, you are. Not like me, a different kind of beauty, like you said. But you are, honestly.” Captivating, really: Galinda couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of Elphaba. It wasn’t just her face either…that expression, the way she moved, how her nightgown rustled around her and clung—Galinda shook her head to clear it. She was a girl, she reminded herself, not some hormone-charged boy, and Elphaba was a girl too, and that odd-tasting pudding at supper must be getting to her.

Galinda handed Elphaba the mirror and Elphaba looked into it. For a long while she didn’t say anything.

“So,” Galinda said finally. “How am I?”

Elphaba looked up. “You are beautiful,” she said, “as I am sure you already know.”

“No—I mean my work.” She squeezed Elphaba’s shoulder. “How do you think you look?”

Elphaba put down the mirror. “I look different.”

“Yes, different, of course you look different! But how, Elphaba? How, how, how?” She was shaking her back and forth, and Elphaba was barely holding back a laugh.

“Easy there,” she said, peeling Galinda’s hands away. “If you must know, I find a somewhat prettier appearance. But that says very little, and I have no intention of going through such torture every day.”

Galinda snorted.

“Now, how am I supposed to take this off?”

Reluctantly, Galinda handed Elphaba a tube of cream and a cloth. “Here—this works faster than plain water.”

“I don’t use water,” Elphaba said as she rubbed the cloth over her face.

Galinda stopped rearranging her lipsticks in size order. “You don’t use water? Then how do you—I mean—”

“Bathe? I rub oil on myself. It works well enough.”

Oil... “And your hair?” Galinda went on hurriedly. “It isn’t greasy?”

“I found a powder for my hair; it’s meant for small animals, but it works just as well on me, so long as I brush it out thoroughly enough so that I’m not gray or dandruff-afflicted. Is all the makeup off?”

Galinda inspected her. “It almost is. Just a few spots around the eyes and near the ear that are hard to get to. I’ll do them for you.” Before Elphaba could protest she had seized the cloth and was wiping away the makeup. Elphaba tensed and then submitted to it. “Why do you seem to hate being touched so much?”

“I just do. Please…”

Galinda released her. “There. All back to your old self.”

“Thank you, I suppose,” Elphaba said, and then she grabbed her book and settled herself firmly back in her old spot.

But Galinda didn’t want that; the strange green girl had finally begun to open up, if even the tiniest bit, and she wanted to learn more. “So what is Beauty reading anyway?” she asked. It was a decent ice breaker. “I mean, really, why the old sermons?”

“My father is a unionist minister,” said Elphaba warily, and Galinda was surprised. Elphaba, the daughter of a minister. Well.

She dragged the conversation on, through religion and evil and philosophy. Galinda wasn’t too fond of such deep matters, but anything to keep talking. Anyway she was too wrought up to sleep, because of the storm, she told herself. And it was almost refreshing to actually think—although evil and gods, in light of those uncomfortable feeling hovering around the edges of her consciousness, were hardly things she wanted to be reminded of. And as that thought came she was struck with an actual, philosophical and conversation-related—really related, not just about herself, which was a change—Thought: “Isn’t it funny, though,” she commented, “that deity is passé, but the attributes and implications of deity linger—”

Elphaba cried out in surprise and mock celebration, “You are thinking!” and Galinda felt proud to have impressed her friend, and eager to do so again.

“But they believe in evil still…” she repeated regretfully. How much easier life might be if one could just give in to an inclination without it being sinful!

Elphaba was smiling at her, delighted.

How much easier…Galinda’s fists clenched. “I am going to sleep,” she announced, perhaps a bit too loudly, "because this is profoundly boring to me.” And with those words she flopped back down and shut her eyes, although she didn’t sleep for quite some time. She stayed alone in her thoughts, and had she been able to see into Elphaba’s thoughtful face she might have been surprised at what could—although Elphaba was so lost in her book that she didn’t notice it herself—be found there.

THE END