The Queen Bee (Wonielle)

Is the ice melting?

The days bled into each other, each one marked by a constant undercurrent of tension whenever Danielle and I crossed paths. It was subtle at first, the way our interactions simmered with this unspoken rivalry, but over time, it became impossible to ignore. She was everywhere—seemingly always present, always watching, and always challenging me in ways I hadn't experienced before.

Every moment I spent thinking about her only fueled the fire. She was so infuriatingly indifferent, so annoyingly composed. And yet, that was what made her so captivating. I couldn't understand it.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t encountered other girls with similar ambition or authority before—my reign as the school’s queen bee was built on that. But Danielle was different. She didn’t seem to care about power in the same way I did. Where I lived for the attention, the adoration, and the influence, Danielle seemed to thrive in control, in knowing exactly who she was and what she wanted, with no need for anyone’s approval.

I hated that about her.

It was during one of the upcoming student council meetings that I found myself once again facing Danielle head-on. This time, however, I wasn’t just a bystander. I had a role—my participation in the festival was non-negotiable, and despite my previous dismissiveness, I found myself reluctantly listening to Danielle as she outlined the event’s agenda.

“We’ll need to coordinate the volunteer schedules,” Danielle was saying, her voice steady as she addressed the council members. “Everyone needs to be at their posts by 8 AM, and we’ll be checking in every hour to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

I could feel the weight of her words pressing against me, her gaze flicking toward me occasionally, as if to make sure I was still paying attention. I could tell she was aware of my reputation, that she knew I didn’t exactly need to be here. But what did she think of me? Did she still see me as some superficial princess or was she starting to see something deeper—something more complex beneath the facade I carefully crafted every day?

But as I sat in my seat, watching her meticulously take notes, something stirred in me—an urge to get closer, to figure her out, to see what lay beneath that icy exterior. But I wasn’t going to let her know that.

“I think,” I interrupted, leaning forward in my chair, “we should have a few volunteers assigned to be runners—people who can quickly move between the event areas. That way, we don’t have people standing around bored. They’ll feel more involved.”

Danielle looked up from her clipboard, locking eyes with me. “That’s a good idea,” she said, her voice still cool but giving me the smallest, reluctant nod of acknowledgment. It was as close as I’d gotten to her approval in the past few weeks, and though I had no intention of showing it, something in my chest tightened in a way I wasn’t used to.

Was she softening up? Was this her way of… acknowledging me?

I watched her work, listened as she continued to outline the details of the event, and slowly, I found myself becoming absorbed in the plan. Maybe it was the way she spoke—calm, authoritative, but never overbearing. Or maybe it was the way she made everything seem effortless, as though she already knew the outcome before it even happened. There was something undeniably magnetic about her.

But just as quickly as that moment of connection arrived, it slipped away, and she was back to being the unapproachable ice queen, as though I had never been a part of her world.

Later that evening, I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection. My fingers brushed over the smooth surface of my mirror, and I wondered—Why does she have this effect on me?

I’d spent so long being admired, adored, and even feared. People looked at me with awe, and I reveled in it. But with Danielle? She didn’t look at me like that. In fact, she barely looked at me at all.

That was what made it so frustrating.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. My phone buzzed on the table beside me, and I grabbed it, half-expecting to see a message from one of my friends. But instead, it was a notification about the festival. The subject line was simple: "Meeting Tomorrow, 6 PM—Attendance Required."

I rolled my eyes. It was the same old drill. Another one of Danielle’s meetings. Another night spent talking about logistics and planning. She was so obsessed with control, with having everything in order. She didn’t understand that sometimes, life needed a little chaos, a little spontaneity.

Still, there was something in the back of my mind that told me to go. To show up. To prove that I could take her seriously—and maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to figure out what made her tick.

The next day, the meeting was as expected: intense and filled with meticulous planning. But this time, I was prepared. I wasn’t just there to make suggestions or offer ideas. I was there to make an impression.

I sat next to Danielle, intentionally placing myself closer than usual. Her eyes flicked to me once, briefly, before returning to the agenda in front of her. I could tell she was aware of my proximity but chose not to acknowledge it.

“Let’s discuss the stage setup,” Danielle said, her voice smooth and commanding as always. “We’ll need to arrange the performers, the lighting, and the sound system. Wonyoung, I’d like you to coordinate with the AV team to make sure everything runs smoothly during your performance.”

I felt a twinge of something, but I pushed it aside. "Of course. I'll make sure everything is perfect."

For the next few hours, we continued to work through the details of the event, but there was an undeniable shift in the air. Whenever our eyes met, I could see a flicker of something—whether it was amusement or irritation, I wasn’t sure. But it was clear that our dynamic had changed.

Maybe it was my presence, or maybe it was the way I’d started taking her seriously. Either way, I felt it. A crack in the ice.

As the meeting drew to a close, I noticed Danielle lingering by the door. She caught my eye for a moment, a brief exchange of looks that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

“You’re not so bad, you know,” she said, almost too quietly for anyone else to hear.

I blinked, surprised by the unexpected compliment—or maybe it was a begrudging acknowledgment. But before I could respond, she was gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

I stood there, staring after her, a smile creeping across my face without me realizing it.

Maybe Danielle Marsh wasn’t the enemy I had thought she was after all.