Chapter Text
Elphaba checked her watch—9:27 PM.
She should have been at St. Prowd's by now.
Normally, she wouldn’t be rushing, but she slept through her alarm—an uncommon mistake for her. The dormitories sat nearly a mile from St. Prowd’s building, and the distance had never bothered her before.
Most students at this time were heading back to the dormitories or outside to whatever party promised free booze and bad decisions. Not Elphaba Thropp. Never Elphaba Thropp.
It was a personal choice. She’d seen a majority of them at five in the morning. Run down mascara, smeared lipstick, unsteady steps, slurring their words through a song that Elphaba barely understood. Then later, they’d lean over bins. Or bushes. Or both.
“Shuttle!” The driver yelled, ringing the bell sharply. Students filled in immediately, crowding the entrance.
Elphaba slowed. She could take the shuttle and cut her walk down to a five-minute ride, but she was not willing to pay anything if she could just walk.
She stepped past the line.
Walking helped. She preferred it. She could think. Prepare. Hold herself together before she had to do it for someone else.
Professor Ironish Clapp—Professor Iro was just outside of St. Prowd’s entrance, clipboard in hand.
“Five minutes early,” Professor Iro nodded, marking her name. “Good, you know where to go.”
Elphaba nodded. She has never been late. Mostly due to the fact that Professor Iro was stern. On her first day, someone had arrived one minute late. Professor Iro issued a write-up without hesitation.
Elphaba had never tested that boundary.
Inside, a cup of coffee waited on her desk. Steam still curled from the lid.
Boq leaned back in his chair beside her station. He started early.
“You’ll need it,” he said, nudging the cup toward her. “Phones haven’t stopped. Lenx just failed the majority of his class.
“You’re joking,” Elphaba pulled out her chair and sat down. “I haven’t heard of it.”
“I wish.” Boq lowered his voice. “Someone slipped pictures into his presentation. No one confessed.”
“And he chose to fail everyone?”
“Temporary. It’s likely a scare tactic, Professor Iro says that he’s just doing that so they would rat out the person.”
Elphaba wrapped her hands around the coffee. Smelled like the instant coffee from the snack bar.
“Still unfair,” she muttered. “Collective punishment and all.”
Boq glanced at the wall clock.
9:58 PM.
“You’ll hear about it,” he said. “They’re probably dialing already.”
Elphaba opens her work laptop, the glow of the screen momentarily surprising her. She clicks on her profile and types her password.
She grabs her headset, adjusting it so it would be comfortable on her head.
She had a routine.
Routines calmed her.
People were harder.
“Mic test,” Elphaba paused to hear the feedback. It was all good.
“Alright,” Professor Iro clapped once. Paced around the room. “The purpose of our hotline is to listen. We have protocols we follow, and if it is an emergency, press the call for help button immediately, and our IT will send the appropriate authorities.”
Professor Iro stopped at the desk in front.
“Shiz University thanks you all for lending your ears and your time.”
Collective nods from the group. Sure,e they were getting allowance and dorm rights for this, but this was still a heavy load emotionally. Calls could last hours. Calls could last minutes. It all depends on who is calling.
10:00 PM
The phone rang before the minute turned over.
Elphaba adjusted her headset.
“Shiz University Hotline. This is Operator 009159. You’re anonymous here. How can I help you tonight?”
A sharp inhale.
“I—” A sob cut through the line. “I failed a class. I didn’t even do anything. I skipped today for an internship interview, I filed an official absence, and now I failed.”
Paper rustled on the other end.
“I just found out. The grades are final. How am I supposed to fix this?”
Elphaba straightened in her chair.
“That sounds overwhelming,” she said evenly. “You weren’t expecting this.”
“No!” The caller’s voice broke. “Professor Lenx won’t even answer emails.”
Elphaba opened the digital protocol folder but kept her voice steady.
“Okay. Let’s slow this down. You said you filed an official absence?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That matters. We can talk through what your options are. You don’t have to figure this out alone.”
The caller’s breathing began to steady.
Elphaba drags her mouse to click on Protocols and the hyperlink to Academic Protocol.
She knew this script. She’d walked herself through similar forms before. Grievances. Documentation. Structured appeals. The system was flawed—but readable.
“Alright, do you have your laptop with you?” She asked.
“Yes.”
Clicking echoed faintly.
“How is this going to help? He won’t answer emails.”
“We’re not sending it to him directly,” Elphaba said. “We’ll send it to Student Affairs. They’re required to log disputes.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
“Title the email: Academic Dispute—Leave of Absence. Include your subject code and note that your dean approved your absence.”
More typing.
“Sent.”
“Good,” Elphaba said. “That’s everything you can control tonight.”
Silence.
“I hate waiting.”
“Waiting is difficult,” Elphaba agreed. “But you’ve taken the right steps.”
The caller’s breathing steadied.
“Thank you.”
The call ended. She logged the call as resolved. For the notes, she put 'protocol followed.' Her shoulders relaxed. She didn’t even notice how tense she was.
“Two minutes reset,” Elphaba called out.
“Heard.” Someone from the room said.
It was normal, two minutes for light cases, take as long as you need for not so light cases. She expects that there would be a lot more of those.
Not everyone would be so kind.
10:22 PM.
Her line rang again.
Repeat caller.
“Shiz University Hotline. This is—”
“I know your code, Operator,” the voice cut in lightly. Confident. Almost teasing. Caller 348115 blinked across her screen.
Elphaba glanced at his file.
Frequent. Allow to vent. Solves his own problem at some point.
“I’m here,” she said.
A quiet exhale. “Do you remember that contract situation I mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” A short, humorless laugh. “I qualified.”
“That’s good news.”
“It would be,” he replied smoothly, “if my father’s title didn’t disqualify me.”
Elphaba leaned back in her chair.
“They’ve removed me from the list.”
Silence stretched.
“I’m not asking you to fix anything,” he added quickly. “I just… you’re quite good at listening. And I’d rather not smash something expensive.”
Elphaba took a measured sip of coffee.
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was after the interview,” he said. “I think I did rather well at… concealing myself.”
Elphaba didn’t respond.
“It went well. They asked about my plans after everything. Long-term.”
“And?” she prompted gently.
“I told them I intend to sit on the bench one day.”
“You want to be a judge.”
A quiet exhale. “Yes.”
“And they were supportive.”
“They were enthusiastic.” A pause. “Offered sponsorship.”
Elphaba waited.
“And then they conducted a background check.”
His vowels clipped slightly when he lost patience.
“They discovered my surname,” he continued. “Suddenly impartiality became… suspicious.”
Silence stretched between them.
“They questioned whether I could even practice independently. As if I’d enrolled here for amusement.”
“You worked for this.”
“Yes,” he said, sharper now. “I am here to qualify. Not to decorate the institution.”
His breathing steadied.
“I just don’t know if there’s any point. If every door opens and then quietly closes.”
Elphaba rested her chin lightly against her knuckles.
“You told me you were doing this for yourself.”
A soft laugh. “You really do listen.”
She didn’t answer.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I am.”
“Have you stopped believing in that?”
A pause.
“No.”
Another pause.
“You’re simplifying it, Operator.”
“Then what am I missing?” Elphaba crossed her arms.
“It’s not disbelief,” He said after a moment. “But heartbreak.”
She didn’t dare interrupt him now. He goes on a long rant about how it wasn’t his fault that his failing.
“It’s the heartbreak of almost. I keep getting so so close. Final interviews, callbacks. Sponsorship talks. I even got invited to brunch once. But—” His voice faltered. “That one detail.”
“Your surname.”
“Yes. It’s as if what I do would always fail.”
Silence again settled. Elphaba had to think of what to say. This was very different from his usual calls.
“It… it isn’t or wasn’t your performance,” Elphaba said it as a fact.
“I’ve been rejected many times.”
“Not because you aren’t good. You’ve consistently reached the final stage.”
“I know I’m good, Operator,” he replied, very amused. “No, wait— I’m great, if you could see me, you would agree.”
Elphaba almost smiled.
“Then you know that the rejection isn’t about competence,” Elphaba paused. “It’s about image.”
“Unfortunately,” he sounded calmer. “That’s very accurate.”
“You’re not failing,” she started. “You’re just…”
“Just? Do take your time, make it sound pretty.”
Elphaba rolled her eyes.
“You’re just encountering institutions that don’t know how to… handle you yet.”
He was quiet for longer this time.
“Then,” he said lightly, “I suppose I’ll keep being inconvenient.”
“Sounds right. Very consistent for you.”
A soft laugh. “Is it? I bet that file on me is full.”
“That’s classified.”
“I’ll update you when someone finally sees sense.”
“I’ll be here.”
He didn’t answer immediately. As if he was hesitating to hold the call or to drop it.
“Thank you, Operator.”
The line goes quiet. Elphaba marked it as resolved; she logged it under career frustration. Leaving out how he admitted that this was a heartbreak for him.
Boq taps her shoulder.
“What?” Elphaba put her headphones down.
“That was a long call. Everything okay?” Boq, more nosy than concerned.
11:02 PM
“All good,” Elphaba said. “Not Lenx-related.”
Boq snorted. “Lenx is paying our rent tonight.”
He turned back to his station.
Elphaba’s line rang again. The night was a bit normal, mostly Deckens College students asking for help. Some of them she could help, some she could only advise to wait for the morning. By midnight, the calls slowed down.
Most students had settled or given up.
12:43 AM.
Her line rang again
Caller ID 348617. Someone new.
“This is Operator 009159. You’re anonymous here. How can I help you tonight?”
Silence. Elphaba’s hand moved to the end call button.
“Hello,” the voice, reluctant, tired. Testing if whether she should be calling at all.
Elphaba paused, she reeled her hand back, and waited.
“Take your time,” she said gently.
“I…” a breath. “I’m not sure if I should be calling.”
Elphaba straightened slightly. Uncertainty was harder to pinpoint. Most callers know what they’re upset about. Most callers tell her what they need.
This one does not.
“We can talk about it,” Elphaba answered. “Maybe we’ll figure it out together.”
“Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
Elphaba raised a brow. She instantly started typing in the file. Caller 348617, guarded. Be direct.
A soft bass thumped faintly through the line. Music, distant. Not close enough to be dancing, but not far enough to be unheard.
“I’m here to listen,” Elphaba replied.
Another pause.
“I don’t even know what I’m upset about,” the caller admitted quietly.
“Let’s start with something basic,” Elphaba said. “Where are you right now?”
“That’s basic?” A faint laugh.
“Yes.”
“I’m at a party,” she answered. “Hiding behind a door.”
“Elphaba typed. Social event. Withdrew physically.
“What made you decide to do that?”
Silence for a bit.
“I don’t know.”
“Try anyway.”
Another soft exhale. Music pulsed faintly again. This time, there was a shuffle, as the person had moved.
“I think I’m just overwhelmed, Operator,” Elphaba could hear the caller tapping her fingers on the phone. “I think everyone’s too bright right now. Brighter than I am.”
Elphaba paused. “You feel overshadowed?”
“Isolated,” the caller corrected lightly. “Which is confusifying because I am technically surrounded by people.”
“Confusifying?” Elphaba blinked.
“So so so confusing,” the caller defined the term.
“Right, being surrounded isn’t the same as being seen.”
A pause.
“I know, it’s probably why I’d rather phone a stranger than a friend,” the caller admitted. “That feels safer.”
Elphaba let that settle.
“Why safer?”
“Because strangers don’t have expectations.”
The caller shifted, voice brightening suddenly.
“Anyway, I’m probably wasting your time.”
“Are you?”
A sigh,
“No,” she said, a small laugh following. “I do have a question.”
“I’m listening.”
“Can someone feel completely alone in a room full of friends?”
Elphaba leaned back in her chair. “Is that what you’re feeling?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“It happens more than people admit,” Elphaba answered.
“That’s not very comforting.”
“I didn’t say it for that reason.”
A pause.
“Are you sure you’re trained for this?” The caller asked with a scoff.
“This is a student hotline,” Elphaba replied.
“Oh. So they just accept anyone.”
“Possibly. I think that’s a Student Affairs question.”
A laugh, warmer.
“I do feel less alone now, though.”
Elphaba hesitated a fraction too long.
“Good. Then I’m doing my job.”
“Oh, it wasn’t because of you.”
Elphaba raised her brow. “Is it the door, then?”
The caller laughed again, brighter—almost surprised.
“You’re funny for someone who claims that they’re not comforting me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“That was honesty.”
Silence again. Elphaba could almost figure out the song.
“I think that’s what I needed,” The caller said, softer now.
There was a muffled knock on the other end of the line.
“I think they found me, Operator,” the caller whispered into the phone. “Do you always have your shift around this time?”
“Yes. I’ll be here.”
“Good,” she said. The line clicked off soon after.
Elphaba marked the matter as resolved. There was no guarantee that the caller would call again, or if it would be Elphaba who answered. It was a matter of luck.
The call was quick. Two minutes and thirty-three seconds.
Her shift stretched on. Quieter now. Fewer rings. She was grateful her classes began late.
At 2:00 AM sharp, Professor Iro dismissed them.
They’ve begun cleaning their desks. Chairs scraped. Laptops closed. They began wiping down their desks.
Boq dragged a cloth across his station, humming to himself.
“And I can’t tell you who’s gonna last…”
Elphaba’s hand stilled.
“Well, maybe that’s the question, an answer I don’t have…”
He lifted his pen like a microphone and pointed it at her.
She nudged it aside.
“What song is that?”
Boq blinked. “Dress. Dijon.”
He shrugged. “The café near the uni keeps playing it. Avaric drags me there after class. Free refills, decent WiFi. Two-hour limit, though.”
Elphaba didn’t respond.
Boq tossed the cloth over his shoulder.
“You should come sometime.”
She closed her laptop.
“I’ll think about it.”
They walk back together, only splitting when the road to the dorms forks.
She quickly went up to her dormitory, avoiding any and all persons who seemed to be tripping over the staircase. Most of them were freshmen.
After preparing for bed and setting her alarm. Elphaba found herself unable to sleep. She was tired, but her mind was restless. Maybe it was because of the increase in calls today.
“Do you always have your shift around this time?”
Elphaba opened her phone.
The Dress. Dijon.
The song played as she closed her eyes. Not too loud. Never too loud. A sleep timer set.
It did match the song that was playing earlier. “Hiding behind a door.”
People have always puzzled her. Why go somewhere you don’t want to? She often thought. It was the mentality of forcing oneself to be present to belong.
Then again, Elphaba had always been different.
She fell asleep with the song looping in the background.
The next day wasn’t so bad.
Her classes were quick, mostly discourse; she paid attention. Answered enough questions that the professor would stop calling on her.
She didn’t really look forward to anything anymore, maybe just graduation. She could not wait to get her diploma and book a flight to the farthest university that has an accelerated Juris Doctor program.
As much as she loved Shiz as a freshman, it was driving her insane as a senior. The only thing keeping her from falling apart was her routine.
She was back in her dorm before she knew it.
3:00 PM.
She worked on her paper. The thing about Shiz University’s BA program was that thesis papers were all done solo. Elphaba heard that the BS programs worked in groups of four. That would have been great if not for the unpaid internships.
7:30 PM
She woke up from her nap. Washed her face and got ready for her shift. The hours were hellish, but the benefits were great.
10:00 PM
The shift started. There were a couple of callbacks from yesterday. Most were grateful. Others were asking for help with a follow-up.
“They still haven’t solved it,” Boq tells her. “Professor Lenx is basically collaborating with the Student Affairs to resolve it.”
“The grading?”
“Yep, heard they’re profiling students, it was around rush week anyway.”
“Probably one of the frats or sororities,” Elphaba nodded.
12:37 AM
The line opens again. Caller ID 3486334.
“Shiz U—”
“Hi, sorry for cutting you off,” a panicky voice said. “I got locked out of my dorm and left my keys inside. The dorm RA and the admin aren’t responding. I don’t have the caretaker’s contact.”
“I can give you the number,” Elphaba answered.
“I think I’ll just ask her when she comes here. Can you send for her?”
“Okay, I’ll send for your dorm caretaker. May I know which dorm?”
“The dorm behind Pink. I can just wait for her outside.”
“Okay—” Elphaba looked at the clock. 12:38 AM. “Would you like me to stay in the line?”
“Yes, please,” the caller answered. She also heard a muffled yawn. “Will she be here soon?”
“I just sent for her, so maybe around three to five minutes.”
“That’s fine.” A pause. “Please tell her that I’ll be by the stairs.”
12:39
12:40
12:41
12:42
12:43
“She’s here now, thank you.”
12:44
Elphaba blinked. She was waiting. Expecting a call from someone. It was fine, most people don’t usually call again.
12:45 AM
The line rang again.
“Shiz Hotline. This is Operator 009159—”
“It’s you,” The caller said.
Caller ID 348617 flashed on the screen.
“Yes. Hello.”
“I tried calling earlier, but I was directed to another operator,” The caller admitted. “I clicked end call by mistake.”
“Oh… well, I’m glad you called back. How can I help you tonight?”
“I doubt you’d help. You hate comforting people.”
“I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
“You misinterpreted me.”
It was silent this time. No soft thumps of the base.
“I do have an actual query this time.”
“Go on ahead.”
“How do I recommend someone for the peer counselors program?” The caller asked. “It’s not for me, it’s for a friend.” She added quickly.
“According to the enlistment, it’s closed, but you can get a recommendation form from the school website and file it.”
“Will they accept it?”
“Not sure, but I can also attach a recommendation from the helpline.”
“That’s alright, I’ll just tell them to apply next year.”
It was really for a friend.
“The other operators could have answered that.”
“They made me nervous. I think it was the competence. I heard it when they greeted me.”
“I answered your question.”
“And?” This made Elphaba roll her eyes.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Yes, do those peer counselors thing really work?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that as I have not experienced the program.”
“You’re not a Psych major?”
“Answering that would break protocol. I can’t give you my information.”
“You’re definitely not that then.”
“I’m failing to see how my major is relevant to our conversation.”
“It helps me feel less lonely.”
“My major?”
“No,” the caller scoffed. “Learning about a stranger.”
Silence.
“I skipped a party today,” she continued. “I think I just feel like I’m missing out right now.”
“What stopped you?”
“I didn’t have fun yesterday. I’m also in my senior year, so I should at least pretend to take my studies seriously.”
“Would going to the party change how you feel?”
“No, I’ll feel,” the caller paused. “I’ll feel that I was missing out and regret that I didn’t go earlier.”
“Do you have something else you want to do?”
“Isn’t this enough?” The caller responded almost quickly.
“Talking?”
“Yes. Talking,” the caller answered. “I think it’s enough.”
Elphaba paused.
She typed down another note on the file. Slow to warm up.
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“That’s hard,” she heard a hum from the other line.
“Anything goes, as long as it’s not information that can identify you or me.”
“Do you know what it feels like to be perfect?”
“No one is perfect.”
“You’re so generic, Operator.”
“It’s accurate.”
“Sure, fine, no one is perfect, but despite knowing that,” the caller continued, “people still expect you to be.”
Elphaba could relate. The weight on her shoulders would be heavy if she didn’t have a plan to free herself. She gets it. Expectations.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Elphaba started. “People tend to project feelings like that when they admire you.”
“I think being admired is tiring.”
Elphaba didn’t type.
“Why tiring?”
Pause.
“Because you have to hide your own fragility to secure theirs.”
Elphaba leaned back slightly. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She didn’t log that sentence. Her cursor blinked on an empty line.
“Who are you protecting?” she asked quietly.
A soft laugh.
“Everyone,” the caller sighed. “Myself, at some point.”
Elphaba hesitated. She wanted to say something generic. Something that the protocol would expect her to say, but she had already been called out earlier.
“That sounds heavy,” Elphaba nodded. “I think protecting yourself is always important.”
“It’s hard when I can’t just protect everyone and myself,” the caller admitted. “And before you suggest boundaries or…or self-care. Stop. It ruins the illusion that I’m this… good person.”
“That isn’t—”
“Healthy. I know,” the caller cut her off. “What about you, Operator?”
“Me?”
“Do you ever get tired of holding things together?”
Elphaba stilled.
“Holding things together implies that they’re falling apart.”
“Semantics.” The caller sighed.
“It’s really not.”
“You work at a university hotline with ungodly hours,” the caller replied flatly. “That’s not accidental.”
“I prefer being the one people call,” Elphaba said.
“And I thought I was lonely.”
“It’s for efficiency.”
The caller laughed softly.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“And you’re deflecting,” Elphaba replied dryly. “This call is about you.”
“I think I just learned that I hate talking about myself,” the caller teased. “And you’re right about deflection.”
“Will you answer?”
“Not today,” the caller said quietly. “I’ll call again. Same time?”
“I’ll be here.”
There was a pause. Longer than a few seconds.
“Deflection does work on you,” the caller said softly.
The line clicked off.
Elphaba didn’t move.
Caller ID: 348617.
She hovered over the notes field. She hesitated, then added: Deflects with humor and sarcasm. Persistent. She then took a mental note for herself. Something in her routine. Expect a call.
Boq tapped her shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Early pack-up,” he said, gesturing toward the other desks. “Professor Iro spoke to Lenx.”
“We don’t pack up early,” Elphaba muttered, though she began shutting down her laptop.
“I’m not complaining,” Boq shrugged. “Sleep is revolutionary.”
They gathered near the front as Professor Iro addressed them.
“Professor Lenx has resolved the grading issue,” she said briskly. “If you receive any further calls regarding his course, direct students to his personal email. He will make a formal announcement.”
A student raised a hand. “So it’s settled?”
“Yes.”
Professor Iro adjusted her clipboard.
“It is also officially rush week. Report prank calls immediately. IT will trace them. Maintenance tonight, hence the early dismissal.”
She clapped once.
“Dismissed.”
Elphaba followed the others out into the night.
“So about that cafe?” Boq jogged next to her. “Avaric said they have a promo for Shiz students. Ten percent off.”
“Sure, I’ll ask Nessa to come with.”
“Okay, sometime next week?”
“Next week.”
"Can't wait."
They talked until it was time to split up again. Elphaba went up to her dormitory. Her schedule was stuck on her fridge.
She grabbed a pen and added:
Calls at 12:43 AM. Be open.