Ice Queen Blog Post #4
Love Is Like A Heatwave
Hey there, puck bunnies! Ice Queen here, your go-to gal for the coolest takes on all things Barracudas.
I smell drama the way sharks smell blood in the water, and folks, the ocean is absolutely crimson right now.
The Berkeley Shore County Fair kicks off this weekend, and if you think I’m going to miss the annual convergence of cotton candy, questionable carnival rides, and our beloved Barracudas making fools of themselves in public, you clearly don’t know me at all.
I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize the signs: summer heat, alcohol hidden in novelty cups, competitive games designed to showcase masculine prowess.
It’s a recipe for gossip, and I am starving.
Let’s review the evidence, shall we?
Exhibit A: Our dear Captain Jacoby has been spotted around campus, appearing distinctly less like a man carrying the weight of team leadership and more like a man who’s discovered the existence of joy.
Multiple sources report that he is smiling unprovoked and humming.
Humming, people. Something—or someone—has clearly brightened up his days.
Exhibit B: The astronomy tower. I have it on good authority that two figures were spotted ascending those spiral stairs on the night of the lunar eclipse.
Two figures who remained up there for hours.
Now, I’m not one to speculate about what activities might occur under the romantic glow of a blood moon, so I’ll let you all do that in the comments.
The fair presents the perfect storm. Ferris wheels that trap couples in suspended intimacy. Ring toss games that allow for “accidental” physical contact. Funnel cake consumption that inevitably leads to powdered sugar on noses and subsequent wiping. I can practically taste the content.
The fair runs Friday through Sunday. I will be there all three days, armed with my phone, my anonymity, and my unshakable commitment to bringing you the truth about BSU’s most entertaining athletes.
Will there be a dramatic confession on the Ferris wheel? A jealousy-fueled confrontation at the dunk tank? An ill-advised attempt to win an oversized stuffed animal that reveals more about someone’s feelings than they intended?
The heat is rising, and where there’s heat, there’s bound to be flames.
Until next time,
Ice Queen skating off!
The post is live. The comments are already rolling in. And I have approximately ninety minutes before my friends pick me up.
The shower sputters to life, and I step under the spray, letting the lukewarm water rinse the sweat of a July night off my skin. I tilt my head back, my hair darkening as it plasters against my forehead, and let my mind do what it does best: strategize.
Here’s the thing about being the Ice Queen. On the internet, I’m untouchable. Sharp, witty, feared. People refresh my blog at two in the morning, hoping for crumbs. I am, without question, the most powerful anonymous voice on this campus.
In person? I’m the person who gets their hair ruffled.
I squeeze shampoo into my palm and work it through my hair with more force than the task requires.
One friend patted me on the head last week. Patted. Me. On. The. Head. Another introduced me to someone at The Brew as “basically a little sibling.”
The water runs through my hair, carrying suds down my back in rivulets I don’t bother tracking.
There’s one friend, though, who is the worst offender, honestly. The man once threw his jacket over a puddle so I wouldn’t get my shoes wet, which sounds romantic until you realize he does the exact same thing for his little sister when she visits campus.
I am, in the eyes of every person I know, a sexless entity. A mascot with good hair. The team hamster everyone adores but nobody wants to take home for the weekend.
The frustrating part is that I know I’m attractive.
That’s not arrogance; it’s observation. I have mirrors.
I have eyes. I have a DM folder full of messages from guys who would crawl across broken glass for my attention.
But the guys I actually want? The ones I’ve spent three years building friendships with, laughing with, watching terrible movies with at two in the morning while sharing a bag of Doritos?
Those guys see right through me. Or rather, they see around me.
Past me. Over me. Every direction except at me.
Once I’m done showering, I twist the faucet off and stand in the steam, water dripping from my body onto the bath mat.
The county fair changes things. It has to.
Three days of proximity, adrenaline, and recklessness that only carnival lighting can produce.
People make stupid decisions at fairs. They ride Ferris wheels with people they shouldn’t.
They win stuffed bears for people they’re pretending not to like.
They eat funnel cake off each other’s fingers and pretend it’s platonic.
I grab my towel, wrapping it around myself as I catch my reflection in the foggy mirror. I swipe a hand across the glass, clearing a streak, and study what I see. The body is good. The brain is better.
So what’s the problem? Why do these idiots look at me and see a sibling instead of someone who could absolutely ruin their lives in the best possible way?
I think the answer is proximity and familiarity. I’ve been around so long that I’ve become furniture. You don’t fantasize about your couch. You don’t take your bookshelf to dinner. I’ve made myself too comfortable, too available.
Too safe.
The Ice Queen would never make that mistake. She keeps people at arm’s length and doles out attention as though it’s rationed.
My phone buzzes on the dresser. I glance at it.
Picking you up in thirty. Better be ready, kid.
Kid.
I stare at the word until my vision blurs. Then I pick up the phone and send a smiley face, because that’s what the little sibling does. Smiles and never makes waves. But that has to end sooner rather than later. Summer is almost over.
First: I need to stop being available. If they text, I wait. If they invite, I hesitate. Scarcity creates value.
Second: I need to be seen with other people. Not other guys necessarily—though that wouldn’t hurt—but anyone who isn’t them. Break the pattern. Disrupt the assumption that I’ll always be there, perched on the periphery of their lives like a loyal lapdog.
Lastly—and this is the hard one—I need to stop hiding behind the Ice Queen.