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“You can’t pull that off.”
Lydia hates the taste of the words coming out of her mouth, but she doesn’t take them back.
Cynthia’s got that doe-eyed look on her face, and she doesn’t say a word in response. She gives Lydia a smile- more a mixture of bared teeth and a grimace- grabs Shy Guy’s hand, and drags him off.
It’s pretty obvious what her plans are.
Boyfriend? Please. Lydia’s seen how Cynthia is around him. She cares about him a lot, for sure- but definitely not as anything more than a friend. Shy Guy sometimes seems like he wants something more, but not consistently enough for Lydia to believe he really does.
And she knows how Cynthia feels. Better than Cynthia does, as clouded as the other girl is with fear and anxiety over her feelings.
Lydia can’t keep doing this, not anymore, not again. After Summer Stock she swore she would never fall for someone who wasn’t committed to being with her, someone who would do so despite all the hate and difficulties they would face, simply for existing. And yet here she is, chasing after a girl yet again who’s run away yet again.
She was done running. Done grasping for whatever is left of what they’d been building. If Cynthia wanted this- wanted her- it would be on her to do something about it.
The doors falling closed behind Cynthia and her “boyfriend” knock her out of her thoughts. Lydia might not know the ins-and-outs of the Frosty Palace, but she knew that was the kitchen, which was not open. There was only one thing a couple would go somewhere like that to do.
It was fine though. Lydia didn’t come to the dance to make up with Cynthia- that was just a hopeful perk- she came to have a good time with her friends. People who didn’t spend all their time running from her.
She makes her way back to her friends, pushing through dancing couples and laughing dates, not even noticing them. Nope, not noticing anything at all.
They’re where she left them, taking up a booth in the corner. Floyd and Arthur welcome her back, throwing arms over her shoulders, and Floyd gives her a questioning look.
She forces a grin on her face, grabbing as many hands and shoulders as she can, saying, “Come on, up, up! We’re at a dance, we’re dancing!”
They last a grand total of a minute and a half. Lydia is normally the one leading their little group, which usually gets everyone dancing, as she loves to dance.
Her moods tend to lead the group, so when she doesn’t want to dance, no one else does either.
“How fun, an evening. What excitement,” Floyd says, slipping into a mocking stage voice. “What say yea, Lydia?”
She doesn’t respond, hardly hearing his words, and not comprehending them at all. All she can think of is the little butch in the frilly yellow dress, in the back with her “boyfriend.” Of her in his lap. Lips on his. Did she do the same thing with her hands, grasping his waist with fingertips like she did with Lydia?
Lydia gets it. She understands the fear and the terror, she has known and felt it since she was twelve years old, realizing just why her stomach felt the way it did around pretty girls.
She was Cynthia’s first kiss. And second. And third, and- the point was, Cynthia was even newer to this than Lydia was, and Lydia understood her and where she came from.
But she wasn’t willing to be the one getting hurt so Cynthia could learn, not anymore.
“Lydia,” a hand snapped in front of her face. Floyd was looking at her, worry evident on his face. “Lydia, do you want to leave? I think the diner two streets over is still open. We can get out of here.”
“Yeah! Or go to my house, as long as everyone’s out by one.”
Her friends were good. She hadn’t told them about anything with Cynthia, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Floyd had already guessed it. Arthur is enthusiastic and kind, but he can be a bit of a brick. Floyd was very observant, and tended to catch onto things quickly. Everything with Cynthia hadn’t been quick.
Her friends were good. They’d been with her since she’d transferred to Rydell a semester into freshman year, they’d taken care of her until she was at a point that she could take care of herself, and them in return.
They were good, and she was at this dance to have a good time with them. Not to mope about a pretty girl, no matter how pretty she was.
“I’ve been dragging the mood,” she says, lifting a hand as Arthur begins to protest, “I am, I’m sorry. We’re here to have fun, lets have fun.”
It takes a moment, but Floyd asks, “Alice, haven’t you been choreographing a waltz? For the musical next semester?”
Alice lights up, dragging him up to show him the new dance. Everyone quickly grabs a partner and follows, leaving Arthur and Lydia at the table, and Alice guides all of them through the moves.
“You know, we’d have just as much fun if you want to leave.” Arthur smiles at her, pulling her hand into his on the table. “It’s up to you. Don’t force yourself for our sakes.”
Maybe he had noticed more than Lydia had thought. Or Floyd had told him- the more likely of the two.
She squeezes his hand, muttering a quiet thanks.
There was laughter from their friends, and looking over, Lydia found they were all dancing very out of sync, ignoring the beat of the music entirely. Most had given up on the waltz, but Alice and Floyd were spinning each other around with wild grins.
Lydia pulled herself to her feet, motioning with her shoulder to Arthur. He might not be a cute little butch with doe eyes, but he was one of her best friends.
“Dance with me?”
They danced through a dozen or so songs, alternating partners, dancing tangos and waltz’s and plain stomping feet, and Lydia was reminded how much she loved her friends.
Her arms were in the air, meeting Floyd’s as they spun each other around in almost forceful spins. They were both cracking up, bending arms and trying not to get twisted up together, when she saw her.
Cynthia had rejoined the mass group of teenagers at some point, and was making her way through the crowd. Her eyes were pinned on her, set in obvious determination.
She was wearing his shirt.
Lydia freezes, staring for a moment before looking back to Floyd, dropping her arms.
She had gone off with her “boyfriend” nearly an hour before in that frilly dress- which Lydia would be lying if she said wasn’t a pretty dress. But on Cynthia? Sharp, boyish Cynthia, who wore trousers and mens shirts with pride, and short hair in a way no one would describe as feminine- the dress was just wrong. Not ill-fitting, but not fitting for Cynthia.
Even still, she had come from being alone with a boy, wearing his shirt. Her hair is mussed and make up gone and she is wearing his shirt.
Lydia knows what Cynthia’s spent the last 45 minutes doing- or can take a good guess. Her heart sinks further the closer Cynthia gets, the other girl not taking an eye off her.
She turns to Floyd, saying, “I need some air.”
He nods, looking concerned. “Do you want company?”
With a shake of her head, she turns to head to the door.
Before even two steps, there is a cool hand on her forearm and a short brunette saying, “Lydia! Can we-“
“Come to brag?” She doesn’t glance at her. The door suddenly feels all too far away, so Lydia turns back to her friends.
Arthur is the closest, so she grabs him by the hands and lets him spin her around.
She dances from partner to partner, swapping quickly to get further from Cynthia.
Cynthia doesn’t bother with finesse, pushing through the crowd, following Lydia.
“Wait, Ly- sorry- Lydia- sorry, ‘scuse me- Lydia!”
Lydia runs out of thespians to dance with, and Cynthia catches her quickly. She takes her hand, spinning her towards her.
“Can I ex-“
“You are wearing his shirt.” Lydia pulls her hand away, looking down coldly at the other girl, “I don’t need to know anything else.”
Cynthia is pushed even closer by the crowd, saying, “What? Shy Guy just-“ she cuts herself off, mouth opening in a small ‘oh’ shape, before she continues.
“Oh my god. I know how it looks, but we’re just- Shy Guy and I are nothing but friends, I lied, I’m sorry. We didn’t do anything-“ Cynthia’s eyes are wide, glancing around at all the people. They are surrounded by the mass of people, even if none are paying attention to them.
“I panicked and lied, he was just- he gave-“ she has a fistful of the shirt in both hands, glancing between it and Lydia. “We didn’t do anything, just talked, and I- the dress- he gave me this, to cover it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t pull it off.”
Lydia can’t help the guilt from those words. She had been- and still is- pissed and hurt, but she knows how much Cynthia struggles with the feminine clothes she has to wear for school, with feeling out of place from her looks. It had been cruel to jab at her for that, even if it was true. Especially since it was true.
“No, you couldn’t.”
Cynthia looks away, lips pressed together. Her knuckles are losing color, with how hard she is gripping the shirt.
Lydia could picture it. Cynthia in a dress shirt- a better color than this awful salmon one. A nice button up that actually fits her small frame, ends at her wrists, doesn’t engulf her in pure fabric like this. A nice pair of trousers, no frilly yellow skirt poking from the bottom.
A vest. A tie, matching Lydia’s dress, left undone. Lydia could grab both sides, pull the shorter girl up to her-
“This is much better.”
Cynthia’s hands fall, smoothing the shirt back out. She looks relieved, and Lydia notices her eyes are red, as if she’d been crying.
“Can we, can I talk to you outside? Privately?” The Thespians are still dancing around them, and Lydia meets Floyd’s watchful eyes. She knows the rest are likely watching, as well as who-knows-else from the rest of the school.
She grabs Cynthia’s hand with a nod, heading for the door.
Cynthia’s hands are smaller than hers. They’re also covered in callouses, and are always borderline freezing.
She gently squeezes the hand in hers as they force their way through the crowd. People knock into them with wild moves, and Cynthia has to duck her head closer to her to avoid a flying arm.
Lydia wants her. She wants to hold her and be held by her, to kiss the little mark by her ear, to fall asleep in her arms.
Her desire is not new to her. It took time to process, but before she’d even kissed her for “practice” in that kitchen on Halloween, Lydia had known what she wanted.
Even still, she almost wants to take her hand back, leave the other girl in the crowd, be the one to run this time.
But looking back at her, the little butch in a different man’s shirt, eyes red but focused on nothing but her. Looking more like Cynthia than she had since opening night. Lydia looks at her and wants- wants to talk with her and work it out, wants to fix what they’d been building, and build more. Wants her.
They make it through the door and to the street, and Lydia pulls them over to the side of the building, looking for as much privacy as they can get. Music and voices still surround them, but its much more muffled than inside the Frosty Palace. They find a place out of view from the street.
Neither say a word, backs pressed to the wall, hand still in hand. Lydia can feel Cynthia’s fingers twitch a bit in hers, uncertain.
“I’m afraid.” Cynthia finally says, voice hardly above a whisper. “But- I like you.” She turns her head, eyes coming up to meet Lydia’s. “I really like you- like Romeo likes Juliet. I don’t know what it means, but I know that being with you feels- it feels right.”
Her eyes have that wide-eyed, glossy look to them, the one normally there after they’d been kissing for hours. The ones that make Lydia feel like the only thing in Cynthia’s world.
Her hand comes up, cupping Cynthia’s cheek before she realizes she’s moving. “Cynthia-“ she can feel the other girl’s breath, god she wants to kiss her.
But how can she know she’s not going to run away again, act like this never happened? Like they never happened? Yes, she wants her. But she doesn’t think she can handle being hurt like that again.
Lydia pulls back, dropping her hand.
“Cynthia, I don’t know if I can trust you- how can I trust you not to run off again? Pretend this- pretend this isn’t real.”
Cynthia wraps both hands around Lydia’s, holding them tight. There was the slight cold they always had- but Lydia had never been a fan of the heat.
“I told Shy Guy. Not everything- there wasn’t time for that, I didn’t know when you were leaving, and wanted to talk tonight.” Her eyes are still on hers, steady and wide and warm. “And I want to tell Nancy. If that’s alright with you, and then the other Pinks pretty soon too.”
Cynthia glances to the front of the building where they came from, saying, “I can go get her now if you’d like! I don’t think she’d mind, though it is kinda a heavy thing to just-“
Lydia laughs a bit, pulling her eyes back to her own. “It doesn’t have to be tonight.”
Cynthia’s hands go to her waist, holding her with fingertips.
“The past couple weeks since the play have shown me how much I need people around me. How much I want to tell people, about myself.” Cynthia says. “I want people to know. I know we can’t be like- like a normal couple, like most people can. But I want the Pinks, the T-Birds, whoever else you want to tell- I want them to know. But- but I-” she pauses, unsure of her words.
Lydia slowly nods, wrapping an arm around Cynthia’s neck.
“You’re afraid.”
Cynthia’s hands go around her waist, pulling them closer.
“We’re both afraid.” She’s gone even quieter than their hushed conversation has been. “I think we have the right to be. But I’m not going to let it change the way I feel. And I really like you, Lydia.”
Lydia pulls her up to her lips, kissing her hard. The hands around her waist pull her even closer, pushing them body to body, fingertips pressing in. Lydia’s hands are on Cynthia’s cheeks, in her hair, on her arm-
Their lips move together, desperation pushing them forward, desire edging them on.
They kiss for several moments, and the upbeat song they’re both ignoring shifts, turning to something slower and deeper.
Cynthia pulls away, not far enough to separate- hell, not far enough to not still count as a kiss- and mutters against Lydia’s lips, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of taking you to the dance, all week.” She kisses her again slowly, before asking, “Dance with me?”
It doesn’t take much movement, as intertwined as they are. Cynthia’s hand brings Lydia’s to their sides, and they slowly sway to the beat of the song. Lydia can’t look away from her face, the wonder-filled wide-eyes staring at her so intensely, so close.
They can’t be together in a crowd full of teens at the school dance. They can’t be open about their relationship, not like normal couples can.
But as Lydia holds her close, as Cynthia’s head drops to the crook of Lydia’s neck, pressing her lips onto soft skin, neither can find it in them to want normal.