Page 47 of Holding Hope

Melody perked up at the nickname, sitting a little taller, eyes a little brighter.

“I like that nickname. My siblings just call me Melly.”

I moved to another section, watching the layers fall into place. “Melly is a great nickname. Have you ever seen Scandal?”

She shook her head, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

“Melly is one of the strongest characters in the whole show—she even becomes President of the United States.”

Her jaw dropped. She tucked one leg into the chair and hugged it. “She sounds amazing.” Then her brows furrowed. “You need a nickname too.”

I shrugged. No one had ever stuck around long enough to give me one. “My Aunt Brie calls me Lonnie or Ava.” I separated the final section. “You can call me that.”

“Ava?” Melody repeated softly, testing the name. “I’ve never heard it before.”

I finished trimming, fluffing her hair and shaping the front pieces. When I stepped back, her reflection brightened—visibly, beautifully. “Well, it’s spelled like Ava but pronounced like the first part of my name. Ava.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, chin lifting with new confidence. The door opened just as she began striking poses with her phone.

“Melly, have you seen⁠—”

Clarke’s voice cut off. She froze in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slack.

Her gaze darted from the hair on the floor, to the shears in my hand, to Melody’s new cut, then back to me. Her pupils darkened, narrowed—and I braced myself.

They were all about you. They were all about you.

“What. The. Hell. Are you doing? Oh my God?” Clarke shoved past me, dropping to the floor as she gathered the strands of hair with trembling hands.

“You—you cut her hair.” Her voice cracked. “Why would you do that?”

Tears streaked her cheeks as she looked up at me. “You had no right to do that!”

I stepped back, setting the shears on the counter. “Clarke, I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something nice for Melody⁠—”

“You have no idea what you’ve done.” She sniffled, gingerly picking up each strand, sweeping her hand across the floor to make sure she didn’t miss a single one.

“Clarke, it’s just hair,” I said, confusion tightening my chest. “Melody wanted her hair cut and I thought⁠—”

“Melody is sixteen,” she snapped. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and you don’t know what she wants. This was not your place.”

“Okay, you can’t be mad at her for this. I was doing way worse things at sixteen,” I joked weakly —and immediately regretted it when Clarke’s glare snapped to me like a whip.

“Oh, we know all about the things you did at sixteen, thanks to People Magazine page six.”

“C.K., this was my idea,” Melody said, stepping in. “Ava just wanted to help. I was going to do it anyway.”

Clarke’s face twisted at the sound of my nickname. Her glare sharpened. Her mouth opened—but instead of lashing out, she inhaled deeply. Then again. And again.

“Melody Claire,” she said, voice trembling with restraint, “I’m going to count to five, and I need you gone before I finish.”

She said “one” on the exhale.

Melody was out of the bathroom before Clarke reached three.

“You don’t have to be like that,” I said, crossing my arms and stepping between her and the door. “Don’t be mad at her. I cut her hair.”

Clarke rose to her feet, mirroring my stance, Melody’s hair still clutched in her hand. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” She held the hair up to my face, tears welling in her eyes like liquid glass.