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Cynthia didn’t really get jackets. Well, she did but she didn’t.
Practically speaking, Cynthia understood jackets. They identified you as part of a group, told everyone who you were, and showed pride in your gang. She had longed for a T-Birds jacket for so long for a reason, and now she strutted the halls in her Pink Ladies jacket because of the same idea. But romantically speaking? She didn’t get it. Wearing someone else’s jacket as some kind of sign that you were their girlfriend never made any sense to her.
“But, why?” Cynthia asked for the fifteenth time as Jane told them about how awful it had been when Buddy took back his jacket but wanted to stay together. “What’s the big deal with his jacket? Why did people go so bananas when you wore it in the first place?”
“It’s a status thing,” Olivia replied. “You heard Rosemary when they got banned, she’s basically only dating Wally so she gets to wear his Letterman jacket.”
“Well, yeah,” Jane agreed, “but it’s not just that. Wearing Buddy’s jacket made me feel protected. And safe.”
“I’m with Cynthia,” Nancy said. “Why would you want to wear someone else’s jacket? Plus the Letterman jackets truly just do not go with any outfit.”
So no, Cynthia didn’t really get the whole thing with jackets. She didn’t get why it immediately meant you were going steady with someone, she didn’t get why people would give up their jackets for someone else to wear, and she absolutely didn’t get why Richie got so butt-hurt when Jane said that she wanted to wear her jacket and not his. It was just a piece of clothing at the end of the day, and she told him as much when she found him sulking.
“You just wouldn’t get it, Cynthia,” Richie had replied, before returning to his moping.
She really did not. And she had accepted that it would just be one of life’s mysteries, like why anyone cared about football. But then she started dating Lydia.
It had been such a simple thing. The two of them were stargazing, lying together on a blanket in an empty field as Lydia pointed out the different constellations and what they meant while Cynthia split her time between admiring the sky and the girl next to her. Lydia had shivered, so Cynthia had offered her her jacket. That was all.
But looking at Lydia with her jacket wrapped around her shoulders, the word “Cynthia” sitting right over her heart, Cynthia felt an overwhelming amount of affection. She got it.
“Cynthia,” Lydia said, waving a hand in front of her face, “are you listening to me?”
“Be my girlfriend,” Cynthia blurted out.
Lydia just stared at her.
“I know that we haven’t been going out or whatever for that long but I really like you,” Cynthia continued. “And I want us to be something official. And I want you to wear my jacket. So, be my girlfriend? Please?”
“Cynthia, I can’t,” Lydia whispered.
Cynthia felt something inside her break. She knew that whatever they had was fragile and was never going to be easy, but she thought that they had a chance at least. “Right. Well, I guess that’s that. We had a good run.”
“Cynthia,” Lydia said.
Cynthia turned her head away so Lydia couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes.
“Cynthia,” Lydia repeated. “Look at me. I want to be your girlfriend.”
Cynthia turned back. “You do?”
“I do. But I can’t wear your jacket.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she said quickly. “But if I wore it in public or at school and people saw, they would talk.”
“Right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Lydia paused. “So, girlfriend? Where’d that come from?”
Cynthia flushed. “Seeing you in my jacket, I just wanted you to be… mine, I guess. Officially. Not in a possessive way, because—” She was cut off by Lydia grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her into a kiss, which she melted into, the rest of her sentence forgotten.
“I would love to be yours,” Lydia said once they finally broke apart. “As long as you’re mine.”
The thought nearly made Cynthia’s brain short-circuit but she somehow managed an enthusiastic nod.
“So glad we could come to an agreement,” Lydia said, already leaning in for another kiss.
After another half-hour of stargazing and kissing (ok, mostly kissing, but Cynthia was excited about having a girlfriend) Lydia had to head home so she didn’t miss curfew. She handed Cynthia’s jacket back to her and the two of them started walking back to their respective vehicles.
“Hey Lydia?” Cynthia called.
Lydia paused and turned around. “Yeah?”
“Do you ever wish we didn’t have to sneak around and hide like this?”
Lydia smiled sadly. “Constantly. But that’s just not the world we live in right now.”
“How do you deal with it?”
“I know I’m not alone. I have you, and Floyd, and Arthur, and I know there’s other people out there like us. And you find compromises and stolen moments and resist in whatever way you can, because I refuse to give up who I am or stop caring about you.”
Cynthia nodded. It made sense. “Still sucks.”
“I know. But I don’t know what to do except live as much as I can.” Lydia paused and checked her watch. “I have to go. Good night, Cynthia.”
“Good night, Lydia.” Cynthia watched the headlights of Lydia’s car disappear from sight and sighed. She got why Lydia couldn’t wear her jacket. Really, she did. But she wanted something to symbolize their relationship, something that tied them together. Deep in her brain, an idea started to form. It was crazy, and she would need a lot of help, but it might just work. She started her bike and began the drive home. She had a lot to do this weekend.
The next day Cynthia woke up early and raced to Nancy’s house, throwing rocks at her window until she was finally let in.
“What could possibly be so important that you woke me up at 9 o’clock in the morning on a Saturday?” Nancy grumbled as she attempted to figure out how to make a cup of coffee.
Cynthia glanced around to make sure no one was about to enter the kitchen.
“My parents are at the Frosty Palace already,” Nancy said, picking up on Cynthia’s nervousness. “Had to get some machine installed or something before opening.” She sat up straight. “Is this about Lydia?”
Cynthia nodded. “Yes. I asked her to be my girlfriend last night—”
Nancy practically squealed. “You what? What did she say?”
“I asked her to be my girlfriend, and she said yes.” Cynthia couldn’t help herself from grinning at the memory.
“You little Romeo. Can’t believe you would try and sneak that past me as if it’s not a big deal.”
Cynthia could feel her face heating up from embarrassment. “It is a big deal. But that’s not why I’m here. I want Lydia to be able to wear my Pink Ladies jacket, but that would be too much of a risk, so I had an idea about what I could do instead, but I would need your help.”
“I’m in.”
“Nancy, I haven't even told you what I need from you.”
“Doesn’t matter. I take my job as Lynthia’s partner-in-crime very seriously.”
“Lynthia?”
“Lydia and Cynthia? So together it would be Lynthia? It doesn’t matter. Just tell me what you were thinking.”
After Cynthia explained her idea, Nancy sat silently for a minute, staring off into space with her lips pursed. Finally, she said, “I can do it. It’ll work. But you’re helping me.”
“Me?” Cynthia stammered. “I don’t know the first thing about sewing.”
“Well then today’s your lucky day, because you’re learning.” Ignoring Cynthia’s sounds of protest, Nancy grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her towards her room.
It took countless hours spread out over two days, and Cynthia was pretty sure she had lost half her blood from the number of times she stabbed her finger with a needle, but on Monday morning she walked into school with a package tucked safely into her backpack.
She was on edge all day, spending her classes drumming her fingers on the desk while staring at the clock rather than listening to the teacher. It’s not like she paid attention on any other day, so no one commented. After what felt like an eternity of literature and math and physics, it was time for rehearsal. Since she had started dating Lydia, rehearsal had become something that Cynthia almost looked forward to. She couldn’t do much more than briefly chat with her girlfriend during the time, but those small interactions were still the highlight of her day. Today, however, Cynthia spent the entire time worrying about Lydia’s reaction. Her plan had seemed like a great idea two days ago, but what if Lydia hated it?
Lydia caught her eye from the other side of the stage and raised an eyebrow at her. Of course she had noticed Cynthia internally freaking out. She always did.
Cynthia smiled weakly in response. Everything would be fine as soon as rehearsal was over.
It felt like it took five hours, but finally (finally!) the bell rang and everyone started packing up and filing out.
Cynthia raced over to Lydia, grabbing her elbow and pulling her backstage.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” Lydia replied. “Are you OK? You looked like a nervous wreck during rehearsal.”
“I’m good. Um, I have a present for you.” She pulled out the package, carefully wrapped in paper and twine, out of her backpack and handed it to Lydia.
Lydia slowly opened the package, pulling out a bulky black cardigan. “Cynthia, did you make this?” she asked, running her fingers over the front.
“With a lot of help from Nancy, yeah.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. Um, it’s lined on the inside with pink satin, which I know is kind of weird, but it’s the same lining as my Pink Ladies jacket, because I know you can’t wear it, but this way maybe it can feel like you are.” Lydia said nothing, just continued examining the sweater, tracing her fingers over the seams and buttons and lining. “Do you like it?”
Lydia finally looked up, and Cynthia saw that her eyes were wet. “Cynthia, I don’t know what to say,” she said, putting the cardigan on and wrapping it around herself. “I love it. You’re incredible.”
Cynthia ducked her head. “It’s like what you said. You find compromises.”
“I actually had a similar thought," Lydia admitted. "After that night. I thought about it and I decided I wanted you to have something of mine that you can keep with you. So here.” Lydia held out a small object, which Cynthia took.
It was one of Lydia’s pins. A small red rose with a green stem. “I love it,” Cynthia breathed.
“I got it because it reminded me of Romeo and Juliet. I know it’s nothing close to making you a whole sweater—”
“It’s perfect,” Cynthia interjected. She pinned it to her Pink Ladies jacket, right next to where her name was sewn.
Lydia glanced around to make sure they were alone and then gave Cynthia a quick peck on the lips.
“What was that for?” Cynthia asked.
“Being you,” Lydia replied.
The late bell rang, making them both jump.
“I have to go,” Lydia said. “But I’ll see you later?”
“Sounds good,” Cynthia replied.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Cynthia hung out with the Pink Ladies and ignored her teachers, like always. But every time she spotted Lydia in the hall wearing the black cardigan she smiled to herself. Lydia was her girlfriend, and it didn’t matter if Lydia couldn't parade around in her jacket, the two of them knew, and that was enough.