Chapter 3: The Broody Type

The owner of the voice leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

He was brown-skinned, incredibly tall, well over six feet. His hair—a dark sheen of a raven's wing—fell carelessly across his forehead. The guitar case slung over his back gave him a restless edge.

Melanie's eyes widened a bit when she took notice of the earrings and cufflinks on his ears, and the intricate tattoos on his neck and arms that ran from shoulder to wrist. Her eyes further trailed downwards and noted how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt. The fitted black shirt he wore outlined his broad chest and toned muscular abs.

When Melanie stared a second too long, he scowled.

“You done staring yet, or should I strike a pose?” His tone was sharp and impatient, like her very existence had already inconvenienced him.

Heat crawled up her cheeks, and her brows snapped together. “Hey! I wasn't staring.”

“Oh right,” he dragged the words out, rolling his eyes with slow sarcasm. “You were just… burning a hole in my shirt with your eyes for fun.”

Melanie's mouth opened, ready to fire back, but he was already adjusting his guitar strap, his gaze flicking lazily over her suitcases before landing back on her.

“Next time you wanna gawk, maybe do it faster. Some of us have places to be.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I'm not in the mood for small talk with you right now. Could you just move? You're standing in the way,” he said gruffly.

Melanie crossed her arms, lips parting in disbelief. “Wow. And here I was thinking you were just grumpy. Turns out you're also rude. Really rude.”

He gave a humourless smirk. “And here I was thinking you had better things to do than block doors.”

Her glare sharpened, hot enough to burn a hole straight through him. He reminded her of those four mean girls, except this guy wasn't catty or dramatic. He was blunt, unapologetic, and that somehow made it worse.

Melanie's stomach twisted with irritation. First the four witches in the hallway, and now him? Was Crestmoor full of rude, entitled jerks, or had the universe just decided to dump them all on her today?

“Hey! You have no right to talk to a lady like that!” she snapped, her voice rising. “You lack manners, okay? If no one's told you yet, well, I'm telling you now. Not only are you manner less, you are so, so rude!”

Melanie kept on talking, while he just sighed, peeling himself off the wall with infuriating calm.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he rolled his eyes like she was a buzzing fly he couldn't be bothered to swat. Then, without a word, he shouldered past her and pushed the office door open.

Melanie's jaw dropped. “Hey, I'm not done talking!” she called after him, anger flaring.

But the door clicked shut in her face, cutting her off like she was nothing.

Melanie was beyond mad right now, she was seething in fact.

The nerve of this dude! She hated it. Absolutely hated it.

She groaned inwardly. Of course her day had to start like this. Just why?! Other people's days were probably full of smiles, and small talks. Hers? A train wreck.

She took a steadying breath, reaching for the doorknob again, determined this time. She was going to open it, and walk in.

Except she didn't even get the chance. The door swung open and there he was. Mr. Grumpy himself.

She glared at him with every ounce of resentment she could summon. He, on the other hand, merely arched a perfectly sculpted brow that looked like it had been carved by the gods. And of course, he had to look annoyingly hot while doing it.

They locked eyes. One long, silent standoff. A full minute of pure, unspoken challenge, until he rolled his eyes like she was the ridiculous one, brushed past her, and rammed her arm hard enough to make her wince.

“Hey! Watch it!” she snapped, teeth clenched. Was ‘excuse me’ not in his vocabulary?

But then again, what could she expect from a guy like him? He was rude, grumpy, and probably so bored of his mundane life that he acted out by being an outright jerk.

No, scratch that.

An asshole. That was what Melanie would call him. A complete, unapologetic asshole.

With a huff, she shoved those thoughts aside and finally stepped into the office.

Behind the desk sat a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. Her glasses perched low on her nose, eyes glued to the computer's screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

When she heard footsteps, she looked up and smiled warmly at Melanie.

“Welcome to Crestmoor Academy. How may I help you?”

Melanie returned the smile. “Oh, I'm new. I just wanted to collect my key, and maybe get some other information.”

“Of course, no problem. What's your name, dear?” the woman asked politely.

“Melanie Chambers,” she replied.

The woman typed quickly, then glanced up.

“Perfect.” She handed her a small stack of files. “Here's everything you'll need to get settled, and a few tips for surviving your first week.” She reached into a drawer, pulled out a shiny brass key, and slid it across the desk. “Room 165. North Wing. Don't lose it unless you enjoy begging.”

Melanie tucked the files under her arm and picked up the key. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome dear,” said the woman.

Melanie smiled. Since stepping into Crestmoor, this woman was the only genuinely kind person she'd met.

Maybe not everyone here is completely awful after all, she thought, letting herself hope just a little.

When she stepped outside, a cool evening breeze swept past, ruffling her red hair as she made her way toward the girls' dormitory.

A short distance from the dorm, Melanie spotted a familiar face waving excitedly at her. She beamed instantly and hurried over to her sister, Tiffany.

“Hey Melly. I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you so, so much,” said Tiffany, grinning as she pulled Melanie into a warm hug.

“I've missed you too, Tiffany,” she said.

Tiffany pulled away from the embrace, hands resting on Melanie's shoulders. She immediately noticed how weighed down Melanie looked; two suitcases in her hands and a stack of files awkwardly tucked under her arm. With a gentle smile, she took one of the suitcase from her.

“Here, let me help you,” she said softly.

“Thanks.”

“Soo, how've you been? How do you like Crestmoor Academy so far?” Tiffany asked with a bright smile as they stepped into the dorm.

“Tiff, this school isn't bad. It's great! But the students here are awful. Not all of them, just the few I've met,” Melanie said with a tired sigh.

“Oh, what happened?”

“I had a really bad encounter with some persons,” she spoke, her brows furrowing as her mind replayed the earlier incident with those sassy girls and that grumpy asshole.

“Look, I was so captivated by the beauty of this school that I wasn't paying attention. Before I knew it, I tripped over something and crashed into someone. Gosh, the girl whose name was Chloe, I think, acted like her world had just come to an end. Yeah, I broke her manicured nail, which I apologized for! I swear, the world must revolve around her perfectly manicured fingers. And not to speak of, she and her minions were insulting me,” Melanie spoke, exasperated.

Tiffany chuckled. “Don't mind them. You'll get used to it. The girls here are ridiculously sassy, so brace yourself, you've only met the first batch.”

Melanie groaned, making Tiffany laugh.

“Oh, come on. Just forget about them.”

Melanie nodded, her lips pursed. “I tried to, but then it got worse. In the admin office, there was this guy—”

Tiffany's eyes widened instantly, cutting her off. “A guy?”

Melanie sighed. “Yes. Grumpy, rude, and full of himself.”

Tiffany leaned closer to Melanie, her grin broadening. “Was he hot?”

“Really Tiffany?” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

Tiffany flipped her chestnut hair and said, “What? A girl needs to know if a guy is smoking hot. So answer my question, was he hot?”

The image of the guy flashed in Melanie's mind: his brown skin, dark hair, broad shoulders, and that annoyingly perfect chest. Ugh. Despite hating him so much that she'd love nothing more than to punch his ass, it would be a sin on her part to say he wasn't smoking hot.

“Yeah. He's hot.”

“O.M.G. Tell me everything. Tall? Broad shoulders? A smolder?” Tiffany asked, eyes glittering.

“What? Tiffany that's not the point—”

“I bet he's the broody type.”

“Definitely. Grumpy too,” she replied with a huff.

But Tiffany didn't take her seriously. Instead, she giggled.

“I'm sure he's the kind who leans against the walls like he owns the hallway. Sharp jawline, tattoos maybe? Messy hair that somehow looks perfect…” she fanned herself with her hand. “Mmm, Melly that's the good stuff.”

Melanie shot her sister a pointed look. “Um, hello? He literally shoved past me and nearly broke my arm. That guy's a jerk.”

“Oh. My. Gosh. Hot and rude? He's totally my type. Me? The most beautiful and popular girl and he? The brooding bad boy. We're a perfect match, Melly!”

“Seriously?” Melanie groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You're impossible.”

“No, no, listen,” Tiffany said. “I'm serious. A hot, moody guy who doesn't care what anyone thinks? That's the dream, Melly! Geez, haven't you read it in stories? The guy's hot and always a bad boy and when he eventually falls in love, he could burn the whole world just for his girl.”

“Tiffany, that's fantasy. This is reality! The guy I met is fucking rude and pretty looks like someone who wouldn't even lift a finger for his girl, that's if he has one.”

“Melly, could you just stop being a buzz kill?”

“Fine, fine. You can get your heart broken like those girls in the stories,” Melanie said, already annoyed, wondering why her sister had to be such a hopeless romantic.

“Melly, it's a slow progress. Eventually, we'll fall hard for each other and he will burn the whole universe just to be with me. Isn't that romantic?” Tiffany let out a dreamy sigh as she rested her head on Melanie's shoulder.

Melanie rolled her eyes at Tiffany's statement. Of course her sister would gush over a guy she hadn't even met, classic Tiffany. Always living in that fairytale bubble of hers where every frog had a crown tucked somewhere and every jerk was just one kiss away from becoming Prince Charming.

Annoying? Yes. Surprising? Not at all. This was Tiffany being… well, Tiffany.