Disclaimer: I am not Butch Hartman. I don't own Danny. I'm not rich. WAHHHHH!
Session 4: Jazzmine Fenton
Age 16
"Wow, THIS is a library," Jazz commented, looking at the overstuffed bookshelf that occupied the corner of the office.
Cade chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment... but you should see my apartment. The books take up more space than a roommate."
"But do they cover half the rent?" the redhead replied, grinning.
"I wish. You know, you're welcome to borrow anything that catches your attention... Everybody in school says you're pretty into psychology, and far be it from me to discourage a future member of my profession."
She smiled, but there was something wistful in the expression. "Yeah, well, I'm not QUITE as into it as I used to be..."
"Because of Spectra?" He leaned back in his chair. "From what I hear, you may have been the only student she DIDN'T run roughshod over."
Jazz shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah, well... I pretty much shoved Danny right into her trap. I thought I knew what was best for him..."
"And she was a respected, famous therapist, renowned for her work with troubled teenagers. Who better to help out a struggling fourteen-year-old?"
"Turns out, ANYONE." She shook her head sharply. "How could someone who actively tried to HURT people so badly get such a great reputation?"
He winced. "You want the platitudes and reassurances, or the cynical answer?"
"How about the truth?"
"Cynicism it is. From what I've heard about Ms. Spectra's time here... everyone was miserable, yeah, but they were QUIETLY miserable. Except Danny, none of the kids were acting out. They were just... grey. Agreed?"
"Yeah... Why?"
"Picture it. Penelope Spectra sweeps into a school full of kids acting like kids... with the accompanying misbehavior and troublemaking that entails. She leaves, and what's left? A bunch of grey, exhausted kids who hurt too bad to do anything but eat, sleep, and go to school. What are the grownups going to see?"
Jazz looked like she'd bitten into a lemon. "Good behavior."
"Exactly. Especially if the kids all figure that they feel the way they do because they deserve it... Which unfortunately, a skilled psychologist can do, assuming they have the ethics of a garden snake. They don't talk about how they feel, they don't cause trouble, and their parents and teachers all just assume there's nothing wrong."
"It didn't work that way here, though..."
Shaking his head, Cade leaned forward. "No, it didn't. Because this time, somebody realized something was wrong. Because you actually paid ATTENTION to your brother, instead of just assuming Spectra'd fix him. And to be honest... something obviously helped him, because he seems a lot better than the report indicated."
"He's a good kid," Jazz replied. "Not everybody sees that, but he really is... He just... keeps a lot in."
"Drives you crazy not being able to help him, doesn't it? Sitting on the sidelines can be a lot harder than actually being in the middle of the action."
Jazz opened her mouth, then hit him with a hard look. "Wait, what are you TALKING about?"
"Your brother's up to his eyeballs in something he won't talk about. To anybody, except his best friends, apparently. It's not criminal, or a police matter, so... I haven't dug too much. But I know enough about the condition to have some idea of how you're probably feeling. 'They also serve who stand and wait' is a pretty sentiment, but Milton didn't mention the ulcers you get from the stress."
Folding her arms across her chest, the girl leaned back against the wall, still regarding him intently. "You seem to know a lot about it."
"Well... " Absently, his fingers traced the hardwood frame of one of the photos on his desk. "I know a few things about secrets, that's all."