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there are bridges you crossed you didn't know you crossed until you've crossed

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With the ever looming horrors overhead, Lydia decides that enough is enough and that she is going to have a marvellous junior year and no werewolves, death, or supernatural bullshit of any kind can stop her. She trusts her friends to save the day and if they need her she is at their beck and call 24/7, because she is undeniably useful. But she wants to concentrate on herself and school and do something that doesn’t wind up in her wailing maniacally into the night and discovering a dead body surreptitiously strewn somewhere on school property. She is, of course, acing her classes and finds herself growing bored with the prominent academia.

She is walking down the hall an afternoon coming on Halloween, really not long after the defeat of the alpha pack and disappearance(???) of Jennifer, sighing and wishing boredom didn’t quite eat her up the way it does, Biology textbook and notebook in her arm. Her cellphone buzzes against her arm, where it’s squished between her notebook and breast (it isn’t uncomfortable). She knows it’s Cora, who Lydia convinced to keep in touch with her because she deals with Stiles the way any rational person would and not at all because she finds her really, really hot. (Okay, maybe a little bit because she finds Cora really, really hot—but Cora assured Lydia that she’s off the market due to her hot South American girlfriend who’s waiting for her back in Argentina). She’ll check the message later.

She rounds the corner, going to meet Allison at her locker, and her gaze flits across the bulletin board. She does a double take. She looks to the bulletin board, a very bright lime green sheet of paper with bold black print pinned with a pink tack into the cork in particular. She looks to where Allison is laughing with Isaac, trading her Math textbook for a Biology one, eyes sparkling as per usual. She glances back to the blinding paper exclaiming Auditions!!! in a large and theatrical font. She is only half voluntarily drawn in and approaches the bulletin board letting her eyes glance over the other posts (she makes a note to tell Stiles to go to Chess Club so that he might understand it a bit more than a mere idiom for a metaphor).

She decides she has to audition. She isn’t part of any other extra-curriculars—the Math Club is filled with idiots—so, she thinks it might as well be worth her time. She’ll get to put her many talents apart from her intelligence on display and she couldn’t be more pleased. Plus, she’s heard Allison sing in the shower; she has someone to reel in with her.

Lydia checks her phone, reads Cora’s message; derek has had four coffees today i hate him hes a shitty ass driver. metzli is attempting to sext me in spanglish

Lydia ignores the text and replies back with I’m auditioning for our school’s production of Wicked and I’m dragging Allison in with me.

love it, Cora texts back.

And so, because Lydia is persuasive (and Allison loves her best friend, she has no doubt), she and Allison audition, partially concerned over how the set will turn out, and are subsequently cast in the two lead roles.

Lydia isn’t surprised in the least while Allison doesn’t have words to express her shock. Lydia squeezes her hand and says, “I told you,” and it takes Allison a moment to smile. When she does, it’s pearl and Lydia tells her she’ll look lovely in green.

Rehearsals begin after winter break and Lydia couldn’t walk into them with more grace. Allison is nervous about her acting but Lydia assures her, “our friendship is real, there’s hardly any acting there.”

Allison nods.

“And anyway, I can make anyone look good,” Lydia adds and Allison’s laugh sounds like silver bells. Lydia loves the sound.

Allison is captivating with her first rehearsal of No Good Deed. She’s not in costume and there’s barely been any work on the set, but she’s utterly, terrifyingly believable with her arms gesticulating menacingly and absolute pain in her voice when she sings ‘Fiyero’. Lydia wonders what it would be like for Allison to sing her name like that, voice wrought with emotion, eyes glistening with love. She checks herself a moment. Shakes her head, pulling uncomfortably at the hem of her skirt, asking herself what had come over her. Her eyes dart back up to where Allison’s face is taut in an ugly grimace and Lydia can’t help but think she still looks beautiful. But that’s best friendship, isn’t it?

She glances down at the book in her lap where she’s thumbing the pages open, sweeping her eyes over the Witch on the front. She’d begun reading the novel, wanting to get into her character as thoroughly and perfectly as possible. She’s not yet halfway through, but it’s enough for her to feel strongly connected to her character, identifying with G(a)linda maybe a little too much than she might be comfortable with. And she thinks with the perfect mix of the musical and the book, the interpretation would have Glinda quite obviously falling for Elphaba. Lydia kind of wants to play it that way, honestly.

She looks back up at the stage, involuntarily sighing (not really knowing why), and watches as Allison gracefully takes notes from their director. Ms. Briggs, drama teacher extraordinaire, is almost Lydia’s favourite person because she’s a teacher, but she’s a brilliant director. Lydia doesn’t understand why someone with her directorial visions would actually give up being in theatre to be a teacher of a bunch of mostly talentless adolescents—however, because of Ms. Briggs (if not because of Lydia), their production will be amazing.

That night, Lydia is solfegeing her sheet music for Thank Goodness, half-mindedly watching a bootleg of Wicked on youtube, when Cora sends her a call on Skype. She accepts, needing a distraction, smiling when Cora’s video loads.

“Derek’s bitching about Les Mis,” Cora says, promptly followed by Derek’s voice in the background growling “I am not bitching.”

“Well, most people don’t want to read forty pages on the history of the Paris sewers, so…”

“Twice,” she can hear Derek shout. “I have read this twice now and no one fakes their death. God…”

“Is there a reason your brother is upset no one fakes their death in Les Mis, or is he just being his regular mysterious self?”

“Jennifer said someone faked their death in it—“

“She’s so dumb,” Derek says, taking a seat beside his sister so Lydia can see him, exasperated look on his face and brick in his hand.

“Not all that dumb, Derek,” Lydia says. “And she wasn’t a bad English teacher,” she pauses, cocking her head to the side, “although Les Misérables is a classic. It’s surprising she doesn’t have her facts straight.”

“She probably hasn’t even read it,” says Derek.

“It was an offhand comment,” Cora says. “Derek is making a big deal out of nothing.”

“It’s just annoying is all,” he mumbles. “For someone able to perform detailed ritual sacrifices, you’d think they’d pay attention while reading a Goddamn book.”

Oh my God, shut up and go do another one hundred sit ups,” Cora sighs. “I am trying to talk to Lydia.”

Derek grimaces at her, flashing his blue eyes momentarily, which sends a white glare over the screen.

Go,” Cora growls, pushing Derek so he falls off his chair

“Elphaba fakes her death in Wicked!” Lydia says, once Cora stops shooting pissed faces at Derek over her webcam. “Well, technically not in the book; giving the implications at the end and in the sequel, she might still be alive, but that’s beside the point,” she waves her hands in front of the screen a moment, passing on what she’d just said. “In the musical, she does fake her death to avoid her actual and blatantly inevitable death and runs away with Fiyero, who’s now a scarecrow.”

Lydia thinks she hears Derek snort in the background.

“She stages her own murder and melts into a trap door.”

“Classy.”

“Anyway, it’s just so sad, because Elphie wants Glinda to know she’s alive, but she can’t,” Lydia quirks her chin, thinking briefly. “She leaves her best friend heartbroken to be alive with her scarecrow lover.

“There’s something about Elphaba…she’s…I don’t know, I don’t want to say less sympathetic in the novel, that isn’t the right term, not at all… She’s, I suppose, much more bitter in the novel, and Glinda is much more intellectual. I wish they’d put her intelligence in the musical, but, blah blah blah Disney standards, you know?”

Cora nods, shrugs.

“I think Glinda was a little bit in love with Elphaba when they’d been in school,” Lydia murmurs quietly, closing her binder and setting it and her pencil aside.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” Cora says, and Lydia feels as though it’s almost meant to be accusatory, but she’s not entirely sure why.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“No, you should,” she says. “You just…”

Lydia purses her lips, staring down her webcam an inquisitive moment.

“Allison did No Good Deed for the first time on stage today,” she smiles.

“That’s why,” Cora says.

“That’s—what?”

“I just think if you think about the characters’ relationship too much you might start to,” she trails off, gesturing in a circular motion, not really meaning anything.

“What? Overthink my relationship with Allison?” Lydia rolls her eyes. “Please, I know I’m a forward thinker, but I hardly think I’ll be thinking too much about that.”

“It just seems like the way you view her has changed since you’ve started rehearsals. I’m not saying anything, I mean, I guess I am, but it’s obvious she’s already got pretty complicated relationship related stuff, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Lydia frowns, “She’s my best friend, it isn’t like I haven’t thought about her that way in some capacity at some point.”

“Have you thought about her in that way today?”

Lydia bites her bottom lip and suddenly feels bashful and defensive. She grinds her teeth together a moment, looking over at a picture of her and Allison on her dresser.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

Oh, shit,” she says and honest to God hears Derek laugh from Cora’s end.

“Don’t worry,” Cora says. “I’ll kill him.”

Lydia is honestly surprised by the lack of unexplained events in their second semester. Which should leave her relieved—it is, of course, what she wanted—but it means all her spare thoughts that aren’t about school work or rehearsal or why the Hell there has been a lack of said unexplained events are all involuntary lingering thoughts on Allison. Her rehearsal thoughts make them all the more unbearable, because Allison’s singing voice is beautiful and her eyes are beautiful and her smile is beautiful and she does look goddamn lovely in green; and when she pins the pink flower into Allison’s wig and says “pink goes good with green” she finds herself believing that they would look so good together.

But they obviously look good together. They’re best friends for God’s sake and that is the point, thank you very much. She just wishes she could stop watching the way Allison licks her lips and curls them into a grin when she sees Scott or Isaac. She wishes more that that smile were for her instead of the two stupidly smitten boys. She sighs despite herself and realizes she’s another one falling in line for a chance at love with Allison Argent.

She finally actually accepts how ridiculously infatuated she is with her best friend mid-April when they are rehearsing non-stop in costume and make up (sans Allison, she doesn’t have to paint herself completely green unless she feels up to it) and Stiles—surprisingly amazing stage manager—tells Lydia backstage that he’s finally grown out of his childish love for her.

Lydia is tired and worn out and it’s nearing 9 PM so she smiles sadly and says, “if only I could grow out of my own.”

Stiles does something strange with his head that looks a third nod, a third shake, and a third mild seizure and draws out a disbelieving “whaaaaat?”

She wants to sarcastically say ‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’, but instead she takes a deep breath and looks onto the stage where Allison is painted green and making out with Danny, their enchanting Fiyero (yes, that’s probably ironic).

“Danny?” Stiles whispers, surprise clear in his tone.

Lydia rolls her eyes, because, really, why did she ever let herself become friends with this dumbass?

Stiles understands and nods and smiles just as sadly as Lydia had and offers a hug, which Lydia outright refuses because she is in a dress which is very delicate and hand sewn and because she thinks she honestly might cry if she accepts it.

She goes home that night overtired and angry and very pointedly doesn’t write a tearful diary entry about her depressing unrequited lesbian love. She does, however, listen to I’m Not That Girl on repeat and eats a tub of ice cream. This fact will go with Lydia to her grave and if Stiles manages to dig it out of her, well he sure as Hell won’t tell anyone because he is all too aware of Lydia’s perfection in the art of Stiletto Violence. Lydia feels pathetic in her exhaustion curled up in her bed realizing that just as Glinda had fallen for Elphaba she’s fallen for her own best friend.

In a fit of tears she sends Cora a video call request hoping she isn’t too busy being in her own perfect lesbian relationship to listen to Lydia cry about her pining.

Cora accepts, and Lydia sees the video load on her screen into Cora sitting with Metzli resting her head on Cora’s shoulder.

Lydia lets out a pained sob.

“Fuck you two,” she says, shoveling ice cream into her mouth.

“I told you,” Cora says, and Lydia grimaces.

“Everything,” Lydia says, “is horrible.”

“But you are the star of the show,” Metzli says. “Don’t forget that.”

Allison’s the star of the show,” replies Lydia, heaving a sigh. “It’s her show. It’s all about her. All I do is glance longingly at her and sing sometimes.”

Cora rolls her eyes.

“Why don’t you try talking to Allison about how you feel?” Metzli says.

“Everything is already complicated enough as it is,” Lydia says. “She’s in love with Scott, who, even though loves her back, also has a thing for Isaac, who likes both of them and I just want her without having to deal with two werewolves in the mix as well.”

“Plus, the show,” supplies Cora.

“Plus, the show,” Lydia nods. “It’s so hectic right now. I can’t have personal problems and include Allison in them while we’re trying to be the leads in a musical. It’s just…all too much right now.”

“You should just focus on being perfect in the show,” Metzli smiles. “You say si. Si?”

“Yes, yes,” Lydia replies. “I’ll be perfect in the show. No matter what.”

“It’s always important to do things like that in the—um--, Cora bella, teatro?”

“Theatre.”

“Theatre. It’s good to do things in theatre.

“You know, my brother, Javier, wants to be a matador. He wants to go to Spain and fight a bull and everyone says ‘no, Javier, you can’t go to Spain and fight a bull. You are 8 years old.’, but I tell him, ‘Javier, if you want to fight a bull then you should do it. Don’t let other people tell you what to do. If fighting a bull is important to you and makes you happy, you go fight a bull. Do what you want, but you need to wait until you’re older, because you’re only tiny right now.’ You see what I’m saying, Lydia?”

“Not really, no,” Lydia says, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m saying you do what’s important, si?”

“Allison is important to me,” Lydia mutters.

“But she’s not a priority,” Cora says. “You need to wait to tell her. Wait until the show is over and then you can talk to her. When everything’s calmed down and there aren’t a million other things to worry about.”

“There will always be a million other things to worry about.”

“The silly werewolves aren’t your problem,” Metzli says. “Anything can happen, but you have to—um—go with the flow. The werewolves don’t matter.”

“The werewolves don’t matter,” Lydia echoes, mostly to herself. “The werewolves don’t matter.”

They have two dress rehearsals in preparation for their four shows. Lydia knows she is a stunning Glinda and glides through the first dress rehearsal with little difficulty, if only slightly pining when she grabs Allison’s hand in One Short Day on ‘two best friends’. It’s horrible but it’s a great rehearsal and she tells herself that she needs to suck it up if she’s going to make it through the week.

Their first show goes without a hitch which is pretty worrying until Lydia’s voice cracks in her first few notes on stage for the second show. Now, she knows the last two shows will be as good as they can be. Everyone she knows is coming to the last show. Scott’s going to every show because he’s just as in love with Allison as Lydia is and she wishes she and Scott could bond over it, but Allison loves Scott back and she clearly always will. Lydia does expect flowers from Scott as well, because they are good friends and Scott is ever so begrudgingly adorable. She just knows he’s going to have gifts for everyone come the Friday show.

The Thursday show goes really well. Energy is high and the audience is amazing and Lydia feels pride swell up in her and she tells Allison as much, hugging her tightly and telling her she knew there was so much more to her than archery and flawless French pronunciation. Allison laughs, half her face rubbed raw and the other half still green.

“I love you,” Lydia says, like she’s said a million times before to Allison, but she can’t help the earnestness in her voice and the way she holds onto Allison’s sleeve like she’s clinging on for life.

Allison’s smile falters a moment, she blinks, but keeps smiling.

She nods.

“You too,” she says. She stumbles over her words a moment, still smiling and it makes Lydia want to swear at her. Still fucking smiling. “I’m proud of you too.”

Lydia grinds her teeth together, willing calm to wash over her and be casual.

“I’ll see you later, okay!” Lydia says, and she doesn’t betray anything. “I’ve got a bone to pick with Stiles. He keeps trying to hug me when I’m in The Dress.”

The Dress is known far and wide and Allison nods again, looking worried but she’s still goddamn fucking smiling.

Lydia finds Stiles sitting in her makeshift dressing room which she fashioned for herself because people need to keep their distance when she’s doing her hair and getting into character. Stiles is allowed in because he’s stage manager and for some reason usually has important things to say.

Lydia decides against crying tonight and violently tears a wet wipe from its box and scrubs at her eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah, Lydia,” Stiles says, standing up and trying to grab Lydia’s frantically moving hand. “What’s wrong? Y-you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Lydia throws the used wipe down on the table and reaches to grab another, but Stiles’ hand makes it there first and she draws back.

“Sit down,” he says, and she does.

He kneels in front of her and wipes at the pancake on her cheeks.

“She knows,” Lydia says. “She suspects…” she sighs. “She knows.”

Stiles merely nods and continues wiping away the makeup from Lydia’s face.

“I’m dignified,” Lydia says, straightening her shoulders. “I’m Glinda,” she smirks. “The Good.”

“That you are,” Stiles replies. “And you’ll be okay.”

“I want her,” Lydia says, smiling painfully. “There’s a boy I know, she loves him so…”

Stiles laughs and Lydia kicks him good-humouredly.

“I guess you want to cry about unrequited love over cookie dough ice cream and watch The Notebook,” Stiles says, wiping the last of Lydia’s eye shadow away.

“You know I don’t like to admit how well you know me,” she says, but she leans down and kisses his cheek. “You’re not bad, you know?”

“Not that good either, but what can you do?”

Lydia could say there’s too much laughter for no reason in her life, but that would be her saying she doesn’t actually love her life, as sad as it may be sometimes.

Stiles stays over and skype with Cora when they should be sleeping. Derek is sitting next to Cora (still reading Les Mis apparently.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says. “I see you’re reading Les Misérables, or The Brick, as kids are calling it these days.”

“No,” says Derek.

“Hh—okay,” Stiles says.

Cora ends up coercing them into going to sleep and Derek grunts something that sounds like “I’m tired of the fucking teenage whining” from Cora’s left. Lydia lets Stiles spoon her and they thread their fingers together and fall asleep just like that.

Lydia doesn’t talk to Allison at school on Friday. She doesn’t avoid her either, so she thinks Allison might be the one doing the avoiding for the both of them.

She doesn’t talk to Allison before they’re about to start the show and Lydia finds she’s okay with it.

What is the Feeling has never been played so bitter by a Galinda.

When it comes to the reprise of I’m Not That Girl, Lydia realizes it’s the last show and her best friend and her aren’t talking because she’s in love with said best friend and if Allison is angry with her how will they possibly do their last scene together well?

It’s rough and terrible and Lydia is so sad, but Allison is so in character that she loses herself when she’s handed the Grimmerie. This is the last show, she tells herself. If this damn song isn’t perfect

Her thoughts trail off when the opening starts and she can’t help but smile, looking up at Elphaba, who is absolutely Allison in this moment, and Lydia sings.

It’s dumb and it’s surreal and it’s real. And Lydia is so foolishly in love that she isn’t going to let even the most scientific thoughts of dopamine being the love she’s feeling in.

She sees the tears on Allison’s green cheeks and feels her own eyes welling up. Her mind is pounding out a steady rhythm of wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, this can’t be love because I feel so swell, wow.

Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better
I do believe I have been change for the better
and because I knew you
because I knew you
I have been changed for good

The song ends, them looking fondly at one another, squeezing each other’s hands tight and Allison kisses her.

Wait…what?

What?!

She clings on for dear life just like she did the previous night and kisses back and doesn’t hear the gasps or cheering in the crowd. She is high and content with lips sweet and urgent on her own, tongue sneaking out to tease.

Allison breaks the kiss and leans her forehead against Lydia’s, whispers, “I love you too, okay?”

Lydia’s mouth is caught in an ‘O’ and Allison’s is a smirk, both a little out of breath and euphoric.

“I love you too,” Allison says again, earnestly, pressing her palm to Lydia’s chest where her heart is near jumping through her skin.

The witch melts and Glinda cries and goodness knows they’ve been changed for good.