Sounds of Yesterday (13 page)

How can a father not know his own daughter just by looking at her? Growing up, Declan and I were always compared to David Cohen. We look alike; we have his eyes, his smile. We were his children until he decided to leave us like we meant nothing.

Fuck him.

He’s not going to ruin my day or my college experience. I can’t change schools and I can’t drop this class. I’m stuck in this shitty predicament but I will own it.

David stares at me for a few more seconds until it starts to become awkward. Students turn their heads and look at me, at him next, then wait for something to happen.

David taps his pen against the podium and clears his throat. “Okay.” His eyes jump to a student sitting in the front, her red bun the only thing I can make out. “You’re up.”

“I’m Cindy,” she starts with.

David’s eyes fly back to mine as she continues to speak.

I look down at my notebook and pretend there’s another man standing up front, talking to the class. I conjure up some believable facts for the next forty minutes that when class is over and I’m walking toward the door, I don’t hear my father calling my name. I hear an older man with a southern accent. It works until I look back and see it’s all a lie.

“Can I speak to you for a minute?”

I wait for everyone to pass by me. Tyler and Liam look back at me as they pass and I offer a small smile. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and try to calm down these unwanted feelings of having my father in the same room as me.

When the room is clear, I walk toward him, eyes hard, walls up.

I will not let this man break me again.

“I didn’t know you–”

“I can’t transfer out of this class. I would if there was another, trust me.” David crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at me. He doesn’t do the whole father thing very well. It’s always been his way. He’s the best. No one can tell him what to do. “Don’t worry about me thinking this is some kind of ‘father-daughter’ thing. You’re my professor. I’m your student. Let’s leave it at that.”

David nods slowly, his eyes holding mine.

“Don’t think I’ll be giving you an easy A. Last I remember, you weren’t that great of a student.”

And there you have it, folks. That’s the David Cohen I knew.

“See you on Wednesday,
professor
,” I say, turning my back to him, to walk out.

Every step I take, I feel that little piece of my childhood try to nudge its way out and smile. The young Emily who was naïve enough to think her father loved her,
accepted her
, wanted to turn back and hug him. Me, the Emily walking away, shoved that little girl back into the darkness where her father placed her first.

Walking out of the classroom, I hold my head up high and focus on walking toward my next class, Skills Ensemble l. I’m here for me. For music. For a future. I won’t let that man steer me the wrong way. Not again.

As I find my way around the school, getting lost once, I spot Tyler and Liam again. And they’re standing next to the door I’m supposed to enter. “You’re in this class too?” I ask. I know it’s normal for people of the same major to have most of the same classes so I shouldn’t be surprised.

“If we met up earlier, we could have totally swapped schedules and gushed over the fact that we’re in almost everything together!” Tyler exclaims, batting his lashes. I can’t help but laugh at how that sounds and looks coming from him. He’s around six feet tall, full of well-defined muscles. The girly voice does not suit him.

“What do you have next?” Liam asks, grabbing his phone from his back pocket, looking at it briefly then putting it away. “Hold on. On three.” He holds up one finger, then another, then another.

“English Comp,” all three of us say at the same time.

“Boom!” Liam makes a fist and makes an exploding gesture with his fingers. “Mind-blown, right?” He adds a beaming smile that makes you want to smile right back.

“Not really.” Both of them look at me like I popped their favorite balloon. I think I just did. Oops.

“So, what’s up with you and Cohen?” Tyler asks, opening the door for us to enter.

I shrug my shoulders and walk in after Liam.

“Don’t tell me you’re sleeping with the professor.” Tyler gives me a knowing look before adding, “We can keep a secret though.”

“Ew. Gross. No.” I shake my head with a disgusted look on my face. “He’s…I know him.” I try to wipe away the thought of what Tyler has created in my head. It’s not something a daughter should even picture.
Bunnies. Think of bunnies!

I grab the first seat I find, Tyler and Liam taking the next ones beside mine. Liam nudges my arm a few times when guys walk into the class and pass me. He tries to embarrass me with a ‘hey, man, she wants your number’ but I quickly shoot that down by blurting out I have a boyfriend. Even if I don’t…

I can’t focus on who comes in next because I’m busy thinking of when I’ll see Alex again to tell him about this shitty turn of events this morning. I crack a smile when I realize Alex is the only person I want to see right now.

***

As I step foot into the Whitten University Center, I head straight for Hurricane Food Court. Alex is already at Panda Express so I grab my phone and shoot him a quick text saying ‘I’m here’. It’s not until I’m two feet away when I see him having a conversation with a small blonde chick. They’re standing too close to be strangers. I stop short and I feel my smile disappear slowly. I thought we’d come here alone. I was looking forward to it.

“My sister is at Princeton. We’re letting everyone think I’m there too. I’m not into all the attention.” Alex reaches into his back pocket and reads something on his phone. My text, maybe. He looks up, searching for me, and I start walking again. “Hey.” Alex smiles and turns sideways, giving me his attention.

“Hey.” My eyes drop to the girl watching me. She’s smaller than me, probably five foot two. Her yellow tank top and jean shorts fit her perfectly. Like, I see her curves and I’m jealous. She’s stunning. Her eyes are somewhere between green and blue, definitely catching anyone’s attention as they spot her. “Hi.”

“You’re Emily Spencer? I’m Jenn. Your roomie.”

“You’re real! Sophie and I–”

She steps into me and pulls me into a hug. I stand there awkwardly and cringe.

Jenn must realize something is off because she pulls away and apologizes. “Sorry. It’s just…I feel like I know you. I mean, everyone kind of does. You’re dating this guy! This is unreal.”

Everyone thinks we’re dating.

I honestly have no idea what we are anymore.

“Jenn’s in my general biology class,” Alex adds. “She kind of made everyone know I was there.”

Jenn blushes and looks down at her feet, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry! You try being a normal person and having this famous person walk into class. I thought I died. I legit thought I was in heaven.”

“Alex is normal,” I say, stepping closer to him. I feel like I have to defend him because he hates when people think he’s not normal. Some people think just because his family is known everywhere, he’s not like us. He feels everything we do. He’s just as normal as the strangers we pass by on the street.

Alex looks down at me and pulls me into his side. His hand rests on my hip and I shiver. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by Alex. My body isn’t prepared for it. But it craves even more.

“Okay, so, I’m going to go.” Jenn steps backwards, her smile never faltering. “I still feel stupid for putting you on the spot, Alex. I’m truly sorry.” She waves and power walks away from us before we can say anything.

Alex moves his thumb over my hip, making my shirt hitch up. “So, clearly my day was interesting. How was yours?”

I look up at him, shaking my head. “My dad is my music theory professor.”

Alex drops his hand from my hip and stands in front of me. “What the fuck? He’s here?”

“Yup. Didn’t even know who I was until I said my name.”

I start walking toward the line for some food but Alex grabs my arm and stops me. “Em…can you transfer out of his class? I can talk to the dean. You don’t–”

“No, I can’t.” I grab Alex’s hand and pull him toward the line. “I can deal with it. I’ll only see him on Monday’s and Wednesday’s. It’s fine.” If I don’t think about him, it’ll be like he doesn’t exist. He’s just a person teaching my class.

“I can have the dean look for a new professor. I can–”

“Alex.” I stare at his chest for a moment, wishing he’d stop talking.

This is a situation where money and power won’t help me.

This is real life.

“It’ll be okay.”

Alex lets out a breath, his chest knocking into mine for a millisecond.

“If he says something, or even thinks of doing something, let me know.” Alex tilts my chin up. “Okay?” His hand reaches for the back of my head, his fingers running over the old scar hiding behind my hair.

I close my eyes and nod.

The night I got the scar comes to mind and I hate it.

I tiptoed into the garage to hear my dad play on his guitar. Mom was already in bed, angry with him for leaving empty beer bottles around the house. Declan and I pretended we were drinking from them when Mom walked into the house after work. She ripped the bottle from my hands and stormed over to Dad who was sitting on the couch, drinking his own. It wasn’t pretty.

I knew he’d play something and I wanted to see what. My dad was the best. He knew how to play everything, how to write songs, and how to teach. I loved music because of him. When I grew up, I wanted to be just like them. Only…less angry.

I watched Dad grab his acoustic guitar, sit down on the stool near the wall, and I waited for his fingers to create something beautiful. “Hey, you.” I looked up and found him looking at me with a rare smile on his lips. “Want to play with me?” His eyes looked red and he was kind of slurring but I really, really wanted to play.

I nodded and walked over to him in my pink, fluffy bunny slippers. He smelled like cigarettes and alcohol. It was normal for him.

“Alright, do you remember how to hold it?” he asked, adjusting the strap of the guitar after he placed it over my head. I nodded and he lifted me up onto his lap. When he made sure my fingers were on the right strings, he smiled and patted my leg. “Go ahead.”

“No pick?” I asked, looking up at him. “My fingers…”

“Go ahead,” he ordered.

I looked down at the massive guitar sitting on my leg and I gulped. I needed the pick. My fingers were too small, too fragile. I knew how to strum and I even knew how to play a few chords but I preferred the keyboard Mom bought me. It was gentler. Peaceful. I couldn’t wait to be older and buy a piano.

I looked down at the guitar and strummed the G Major cord a few times. Dad always wanted me to strum each chord a few times so he’d know I was doing it right.

“You’re too tense. Relax the wrist.”

I furrowed my brows and tried to relax my wrist. I continued.

“There’s too much buzzing. Is your pinky on the high E string right behind the third fret?”

I nodded.

“Again.”

Dad shook his head and breathed deeply.

“Switch to the C Major chord.”

I placed my fingers on the right strings and strummed the chord.

“You’re not using the very tips of your fingers, dammit!”

“Strumming hurts,” I spoke, softly. “Can I have the pi–”

Dad tore the guitar off me and shoved me off his lap.

“You’ll never get it. It doesn’t matter how much I teach you, you’ll never fucking get it right.” Dad grabbed a beer bottle from the small table beside me and pushed me to the side, hard. “You weren’t made to play music,” he spat. He set his guitar down in the case and righted himself. “You’re a disgrace.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” I stared at my bunny slippers as tears ran down my cheeks. “I just wanted–”

“Get the fuck out of my way!”

I only remembered the pain in my foot from my father stepping on my toes, and the sharp pain in my shoulder from being shoved too hard.

I lost my balance and fell backwards, the back of my head hitting a corner of something sharp.

The lights in the garage went out and a door closed.

I sat up, crying over the pain in my head. My fingers touched the back of my head softly and I cried harder. It hurt so much. And it was warm.
It’s not blood. It’s not blood. Go to Declan.
I repeated that over and over again so I wouldn’t freak out. I always cringed when I saw blood. I couldn’t handle it at this point.

I felt around and found Declan’s scooter lying on its side. I hit my head against the wide part. Mom always told him to put it away after he used it.

I stood up slowly and found my way to the door leading into the house.

Everything was dark.

I climbed the stairs and walked toward Declan’s room. He had a nightlight by his bed so I followed the light.

“Declan,” I whispered, nudging his shoulder. He was sleeping on his stomach, his right arm hanging off the bed. His favorite teddy bear was lying face down on the floor. I gave it to him last year when I turned six. He liked bears more than me. Pandas were
my
favorite. “Declan.” He twitched but didn’t wake up. “Declan, wake up.”