Author's note: Thanks, everyone! I love reading your comments. Enjoy this next chapter!
Ghost on the Couch
April 10 (part two)
"So how was your week?"
Danny forced himself to sit up straight on the couch even though he really just wanted to sink into it.
"Fine," said Danny. "Fine."
"Yeah?" Brandan also sat up straight in his office chair. "What was so fine about it? Did you have a good birthday last week after we talked?"
"Yeah." Danny nodded. "Yeah, it was good. Fine. Got some good stuff."
"Like what?"
"Some Dumpty Humpty concert tickets. A couple video games. My friend got me this sandbox thing that looks like the surface of the moon. Because, um, I like astronomy, not sure if I ever told you that."
Brandan nodded but did not respond immediately. Danny became uncomfortable keeping eye contact and looked at his lap instead.
"You can relax, Danny," said Brandan. "It's just us."
Danny blinked and looked up.
"You seem a little on edge," said Brandan. "Am I wrong?"
Danny's muscles froze. He looked at his lap again.
"Is there a reason you're acting this way?" asked Brandan. "Did something happen with your mom again?"
Danny tensed. "Again?"
"Last week, you had broken curfew and you expressed your belief that nothing you did made your mom happy," said Brandan. "Did anything like that happen again?"
Danny's knees knocked together, his thumbs ran over his index fingers.
"No," said Danny. "No, I didn't… I didn't do anything like that again."
Brandan nodded. Danny waited for him to respond, something to cover the sound of the gusting AC that kicked in just then. But Brandan kept quiet while maintaining eye contact. Danny looked him in the eyes for as long as he could until a car honked outside and Danny pretended the window was far more interesting.
"Are you comfortable talking about your mom?" asked Brandan. "Or am I wrong and the way you're acting has nothing to do with her?"
Danny watched the cars outside for a while, debating how to answer, hating how there was just no hiding anything from this guy.
"I'm still grounded," said Danny. "From last week when I broke curfew. But my mom said that she would unground me if everything goes okay today." He shrugged. "So I don't know. I guess I just don't want you telling her I was in a bad mood or something when you talk to her later."
"Hmm. I see," said Brandan. "If you have a good attitude here, your mom will lift your restriction. That's a common thing I hear young clients tell me about their parents, that they are promised rewards for being compliant and obedient."
Danny said nothing.
"Your attitude here has always been just right, perfectly fine," said Brandan. "You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't tell your mother otherwise. Because that would be a lie."
"Really?" Danny chewed the inside of his cheek. "What if I started cussing you out or something?"
Brandan laughed. "Well, that would certainly be shocking coming from you. I'd probably be pretty amused."
Danny pouted as Brandan's laugh tapered off.
"But Danny." Brandan cleared his throat. "Is this really about getting ungrounded?"
"What else would it be about?"
"Could it maybe be more about wanting to please your mom?"
Danny frowned and crossed his arms.
"Or not wanting to make her angry?"
"Why would it be about that?"
"So you're not worried about making her angry with you again?"
Danny stared him down for several seconds. Brandan stared back. Danny deflated with a sigh.
"Maybe a little," he said quietly.
"Hmm." Brandan pressed his fingertips together. "Did something new happen between you and your mother today? Before you came here."
Danny released a long sigh. Several seconds ticked by.
"I tried to get out of coming here," said Danny.
Brandan's eyes widened just a little. "Oh?"
"Yeah, I…" Danny huffed. "I was late to class, so my teacher gave me detention. Like I was late on purpose, I mean, and I knew Lancer—my English teacher—would give me detention for it. He's always looking for excuses to give me detention, you know? Like he enjoys it."
"Hmm. And what thinking error would that be, Danny?" Brandan gave him a wry smile.
Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. But it just feels that way to me. I just have this feeling he's out to get me."
"And what thinking error is that?"
"All right, all right, I get it." Danny shook his head. "So I show up late and I don't even try to give him a good excuse like I usually do, so he gives me detention for today after school."
"Like you usually do?" Brandan pressed his lips and looked down for a moment. "Are you late to class often?"
"I—well, yeah, but I'm working on it."
"But not today, I suppose?"
"No, because I was trying to get detention."
"And is detention truly more preferable than seeing me?"
Danny glared at him. "Yeah, I think I would rather do some extra homework with Lancer than sit here and have you pick at everything I say."
Brandan shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Just doing my job."
Danny wanted to bite back but reeled himself in. He had to be good, had to be good, couldn't actually trust that this guy wouldn't report a bad attitude to his mother.
"Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "Sorry."
Brandan did not reply.
"But anyway, I texted my mom to tell her I couldn't go to therapy because I got detention. And I guess she called Lancer and told him—" Danny paused. "See, I was trying to keep this all secret, but she told him I needed to go to therapy instead. And he agreed with her, I guess. Because he also thinks I really need therapy."
"Did he tell you that?" asked Brandan. "Did he use those exact words?"
Danny groaned. "No, okay, he didn't. I actually talked myself through that thinking error earlier right when it happened."
"Really? You did?" Brandan's eyes lit up.
"Yeah. And what he actually said was...that therapy can help everyone." Danny paused. "Which means he thinks it can help me. Like I would benefit from it. I mean, doesn't that still sort of mean the same thing? That I need it?"
"Only in the way that everyone needs it for something," said Brandan. "It doesn't target you as someone who needs it more than others."
"Then why doesn't everyone get therapy?"
"Well, isn't that the million-dollar question?" Brandan chuckled. "Many people just can't afford it or think they're too busy. Or they don't want to admit they could use someone to talk to. Or they just don't want to talk about what is troubling them."
Danny folded his arms and dug his nails into his elbows as he looked out the window.
"What are you thinking now?" asked Brandan.
"I don't know." Danny shrugged. "I mean, you just weren't there. You don't know what he said."
"Then tell me what he said."
"He was just trying to be nice about it." Danny kept his gaze out the window. "You know, like he even started with some compliments. Telling me I'm a good kid, I ask questions that make him think, that he appreciates having me in his class or whatever. But then he brought up all the stuff I do wrong, how I'm always late to class and I don't do my homework and I don't study enough and my grades suck because of it."
"Which thinking error—"
"I know!" barked Danny, looking at Brandan again. "I know it's filtering, okay? It's focusing on the bad things he said and ignoring the good things. But it's kind of hard to not filter that when your teacher is telling you you're a bad student because you're lazy."
"Did he—"
"No, he didn't use that exact word, of course not. But he did say that he thinks I'm doing bad in school because I don't try hard enough."
Danny sank back into the sofa, feeling tired all of a sudden.
"He actually specifically said he does not think I'm lazy," said Danny. "He thinks I don't try hard enough because I don't have enough confidence in myself to do better. And he hopes therapy can help me develop that confidence."
Brandan hummed but said nothing, instead writing something down on his notepad.
"And then my mom… She wasn't even as mad as I thought she'd be when she found out I got detention on purpose," said Danny. "She didn't yell at me or scold me or even ground me for longer. But then I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She did tell me before that she wasn't sure there was a point in punishing me for anything anymore. Because I just never learn, I guess, I just continue to disappoint her. It's why she's trying therapy now, because she doesn't know what else to do with me."
He sighed deeply, shakily.
"My mom and now my teacher…" Danny looked at his lap. "They just think I need more help than what they've tried with me before. Detention, yelling at me, grounding me—none of it works. They think there is just something so wrong with me that now they need to take things to the next level to get through to me, to make me change."
"Which thinking error is that?" asked Brandan.
God. This guy.
"Jumping to conclusions, yes," said Danny. "My most common thinking error."
"It really is," said Brandan with a tiny smirk.
"Yeah. Well. Glad to hear you think something's wrong with me, too," muttered Danny.
"I didn't say that." Brandan's face became serious.
A few seconds of silence passed.
"I know I do that a lot," said Danny. "Jump to conclusions. Assume my teachers and parents and everyone all just think I'm a big failure and disappointment. But I just feel like it's true. Not just that they think it, but I feel that…that I really am a failure and disappointment."
Danny picked at a loose thread in the couch.
"And my mom—lately, I just feel on edge around her all the time. Like I'm never doing enough, like I'm doing all the wrong things. I hate when she walks in on me playing video games or just sitting around doing nothing, like I know I should be doing something productive like homework or chores, but I'm not, I'm just being lazy. Like even though I'm not doing anything actually wrong, I still feel like I'm doing something bad when she walks in the room, like I need to cover up and do something else. Except I never know what. I don't know what I can do to make her happy, to make her think I'm not just a waste of space."
"Do you really think she thinks that about you?" asked Brandan.
Danny tried gripping the loose thread with his fingers, but it was too short for him to get a good grasp on.
"Maybe not. But I definitely feel like a waste of space." He shrugged. "And if she doesn't think that, well, maybe she should. Because maybe it's true."
"It's true because you feel that way?"
Danny did not answer.
"You know what I'm going to ask next, right?"
Danny sighed. "Emotional reasoning."
"That's exactly right."
Danny gave up on pulling out the thread and folded his arms.
Brandan retrieved Danny's tally list from his desk. "Coincidentally, or perhaps not coincidentally, emotional reasoning is your next most frequent cognitive distortion."
Danny groaned. "Of course it is."
"Do you want to summarize it for us as a reminder?"
"No, but I will if you ask me to."
"To make your mom happy?"
Danny's eyelids fluttered.
Brandan smiled. "I can summarize it for us. It's fine."
Danny breathed out in relief.
"Emotional reasoning is as it suggests: when you use your emotions to reason or explain something," said Brandan. "If you feel a certain way about something, then you conclude it must be an accurate understanding of what is happening. 'If I feel it, then it must be true.' For example, a shy person may feel great distress at a crowded party and conclude that all parties are therefore no fun at all and that they could never enjoy going to one. Or someone who is very afraid of dogs may take that to mean dogs really are dangerous and should all be avoided. Or if someone feels like they are disappointing their loved ones, they believe that it really must be true and that their loved ones must be feeling the same way."
Danny hummed understanding, not caring to acknowledge that he caught the pointed drift of the last example.
"So this is where I'd normally ask you if you'd like to give an example of when you had this thinking error." Brandan smiled. "But you already gave some examples we can talk about."
Danny pursed his lips.
"Are you good with talking about them in more depth?" asked Brandan.
"Would you really not talk about them if I said no?" asked Danny.
"I would respect your wishes. I'd just bring up some hypotheticals instead." Brandan tapped a finger to his chin. "There's a lot of emotional reasoning I've heard people have in regard to ghosts. Ghosts like Phantom. People and ghost hunters who just feel he's dangerous and so assume that he must really be—"
"God, just stop, please," said Danny. "You can use my examples."
Brandan chuckled. The absolute nerve of this guy, knowing how to get him to agree to actually talk about himself.
"Let's start with the one concerning your teacher," said Brandan. "You said that you feel Mr. Lancer enjoys giving you detention and that he's out to get you."
"You remember I said all that?" asked Danny.
"Well, I wrote it down." Brandan held up his notepad.
"'Course you did," muttered Danny.
"You feel like he's 'out to get you,' your direct quote," said Brandan. "But he has never actually said this to you, correct?"
"No, I—" Danny huffed. "Yeah, you're right, it's just a feeling I get. Because he seems pretty damn happy about giving me detention, like he actually smiles when he catches me doing something wrong and tells me to report to detention later."
"He smiles every time?"
"Well, no. But—"
Brandan looked at him kindly, pleasantly, patiently. Danny halted before releasing a sigh.
"I feel uncomfortable in his class most of the time. I hate even just walking into his class. I just get on edge and wonder how I'm going to screw up this time, what is it I'm gonna do that sets him off today." Danny paused. "I feel so much better when the bell rings and I can finally get out of his sight."
"You feel uncomfortable with him and you feel better when you get away from him," said Brandan. "And so you believe this to mean that he does not like you and is looking for reasons to give you detention."
Danny slowly nodded.
"You recognize how this is emotional reasoning, right?"
Danny released a breath and slowly nodded again.
"Well, good. That is of course the first step, identifying the thinking error," said Brandan. "And you remember the second step, right?"
Danny cleared his throat. "Examine the evidence."
Brandan lifted a hand palm up, gesturing for him to continue. "So what's the evidence to examine here?"
"Okay. Well." Danny thought for a moment. "He really does give me detention a lot. Like at least once a week."
"Mmm hmm. And so how is that on its own proof he enjoys doing so?"
"I—" Danny threw up a hand and then dropped it on his thigh with a slap. "I mean, who does that? Who just gives one student that many detentions?"
"A teacher who keeps catching one particular student breaking the rules." Brandan raised a brow. "You told me yourself that you're frequently late to class."
Danny reddened and scowled.
"So if you're frequently late, doesn't it stand to reason that you'll get frequent detentions because of it?"
"I'm not late that often."
"Does he give you detention for anything else?"
Danny's eyes rolled up briefly in thought. "Um…yeah. I guess."
"Can you tell me?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Of course. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
Danny blew out a defeated breath. "Falling asleep in class. Failing a test that he wants me to retake. Not turning in homework. Being disruptive during class. Breaking beakers."
"Beakers?"
"Yeah, in my science class. He's also the vice-principal, so he sometimes gives me detention for things that happen in other classes."
"I see. So bottom line, he gives you detention for things other than being late," said Brandan. "And do you feel these are legitimate reasons to get detention? Do you ever disagree with his decision to give you detention?"
Danny slumped and pouted. "Well, the beakers were an accident. I didn't mean to break them."
"How did you break them, if you don't mind me asking?"
Danny thought back to when his ghost powers were new and he had trouble controlling when his intangibility kicked in. The beakers fell through his hands, crashing to the floor. All thirty-four of them in a month's time.
"Why do you want to know?" asked Danny, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Just sounds like it might be an amusing story," said Brandan. "Is it?"
"Not really. I was just a klutz. I was banned from handling any fragile school property." Danny lowered his voice to a mutter. "Not that I cared. Just meant I didn't have to do any of the science experiments anymore."
"It sounds to me like maybe you did care," said Brandan gently.
Danny hardened his eyes, doing his best to keep them from glowing. "I didn't."
Neither said anything for some time.
"So broken beakers aside," began Brandan, "do you think being late, falling asleep during class, failing tests, not submitting homework, and disrupting class are not good reasons to get detention?"
Danny watched the toe of his shoe tap against the carpeted floor a few times.
"I guess they're good reasons," he mumbled.
"I'd be inclined to agree," said Brandan.
Danny shot him an unamused glare. Brandan only smiled.
"So if you do these things often," said Brandan, "does it make sense that you'd get detention often?"
Danny huffed. "So you're on his side?"
"We're trying to determine whether we can logically conclude that your teacher enjoys giving you detention based solely on the fact that he gives you detention frequently," said Brandan, staying calm.
"Okay, I get it," said Danny testily. "That evidence doesn't check out. I can see that."
"Right. It just doesn't support the conclusion on its own."
Danny did not reply, feeling defeated.
"So what else have you got for me?" Brandan lightly clapped his hands and leaned forward. "What other evidence can we examine?"
Danny fought back a scowl, hating how eager Brandan seemed. He checked the clock and sighed.
"Sometimes he smiles when he catches me doing something," said Danny, still looking at the clock and not at Brandan. "Like an 'oh I've got you now, Fenton' kind of smile."
"Like a smirk?" asked Brandan.
"Yeah, like he enjoys it."
"That is the impression you get? That's how it appears to you?"
Danny rolled his eyes. "Jumping to conclusions, mind reading, I know."
"You're doing great."
Danny shook his head and crossed his arms.
"Smiling certainly can indicate enjoyment," said Brandan. "So this is evidence that might give us pause. When this occurs, we want to see if we can come up with alternative interpretations of the evidence."
"You mean, like he might be smiling about something else?" asked Danny.
"It could've been a friendly gesture," said Brandan. "Your teacher might have been trying to lighten the mood, make you feel a little better."
Danny snorted. "Yeah. That's it. You've solved it." He shook his head. "Lancer doesn't care how I feel."
"Is that a conclusion you're jumping to? Or has he actually said that?"
"Are you going to point it out every time I state something I think?"
"Well. That's what I get paid for."
Ugh. This guy. Danny checked the clock again and grimaced.
"Another reason for the smile could be that your teacher wanted to show that he actually wasn't angry or upset but was still obligated to give you detention," said Brandan. "Or perhaps he just found whatever you did to be amusing."
"Amusing?" Danny scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure he does find it funny when I fail a test for the hundredth time."
Brandan massaged his forehead. "We really have our work cut out here, don't we?"
Danny pouted.
"Finding amusement in your actions does not necessarily mean he enjoys or wants to give you detention," said Brandan. "Perhaps it's his own way of coping with it, finding some silver lining and hoping that giving you detention will motivate you to improve."
Danny shrugged and looked down at the armrest of the couch.
"Do you have friends that ever get detention?" asked Brandan. "Do you ever laugh when they tell you what they did to get it? It didn't mean you actually enjoyed their misfortune, did it?"
Danny recalled a time in math class before the bell rang. Tucker was singing the lyrics to a very crude song and didn't realize how loud he was being until Mr. Falluca swooped down and ordered him to report to detention that afternoon. Tucker's eyes were huge and Danny laughed so hard his mouth hurt.
"I really don't think that's what it is with Lancer," said Danny quietly.
"But do you have any actual proof that says otherwise?"
Danny said nothing.
"He may not even know you feel this way," said Brandan. "I wonder if he would feel bad if he did know."
Danny raised a brow. "Do you think I should tell him?"
"That is up to you," said Brandan. "But most teachers I have worked with have told me they would want to know if any of their students were feeling uncomfortable in their presence."
Danny scratched an itch on his head.
"So now that we've determined there isn't any hard proof that your teacher enjoys giving you detention," said Brandan, "let's continue to the next step: finding possible positive conclusions to reach instead of negative ones. Can you think of anything Mr. Lancer has done that might instead suggest he enjoys helping you succeed? That he is not out to get you but perhaps there to help you?"
Danny sank into the couch. He thought for some time before speaking. "Okay. Well. I guess there have been times when he decided not to give me detention. Times when I was late or didn't turn in homework that he just let slide." He softened. "Once he even said that the principal was thinking about suspending me for all my absences and tardies. So he decided to cut me a break to get her off my back."
"So he was looking for ways to help keep you in class," said Brandan.
"I guess so." Danny ran a fingernail along the seam of his jeans. "And I guess… Sometimes he gives me extra help with homework. Or he lets me redo tests or assignments."
"So he chooses to spend that extra time to help you," said Brandan. "When he could just go home or get his other work done. That sounds like someone who wants to help you succeed."
"Or someone who just wants to get me out of his class eventually," quipped Danny.
"Well, I think all teachers eventually want their students to move on out of their class," said Brandan without missing a beat. "That means they've done their job well."
Danny shrugged.
"From everything you've told me, Mr. Lancer doesn't sound like a teacher who dislikes you," continued Brandan.
Danny said nothing.
Brandan sighed. "Would you mind if we went over your other example of emotional reasoning?"
"What example was that?" asked Danny, not actually trying very hard to recall.
"The one about your mom."
Danny tensed and squeezed one hand in the other.
"You said that you feel like you're never doing enough or that you're doing something wrong whenever she's around." Brandan looked down at his notepad. "You feel like you need to cover up what you're really doing and do something else to make her happy. And you said quite specifically that you feel like a waste of space and so maybe she's not wrong to think you are, too."
"You wrote all that?" said Danny, eyeing the notepad with a grimace.
Brandan flashed the page of notes. "I've gotten pretty good at shorthand. I can write a ton of things quickly."
Jeez. This guy. Fine. Danny waited for Brandan to go on.
"So first, you understand how this is emotional reasoning, right?" asked Brandan.
"Yeah," said Danny, his tone flat but not rude. "I think it's true because I feel that way. My reasoning is based on emotion and not logic or anything anyone actually said."
"So then what's the second step?"
Danny sighed. "Examine the evidence."
"Want to run us through it?"
"I…" Danny groaned. "No. Look, I get this one. Can we just move on to something else?"
Brandan cocked his head. "What do you mean, you get this one?"
"I mean I already know the answers to all of the questions you're going to ask," said Danny irritably. "My mom has never actually said that she thinks I'm a disappointment. She's never said that I'm wasting space. In fact, she says the opposite sometimes, that she loves having me around."
Danny slumped over.
"I just have a hard time believing it," he mumbled.
"Why is it so hard for you to believe?" asked Brandan.
Danny shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this one anymore. Please."
"Why don't you want to talk about it?"
Danny tried gesturing, flailing, anything to indicate that he didn't have the words to explain why he just wanted to stop talking about his mother. God, this guy.
"Is it tough being the son of a ghost hunter?" asked Brandan.
"What?" Danny scoffed and raised a brow. "Why are you asking that? Where did that come from?"
"I'm just trying to understand a little more about your relationship with her."
"But what does her being a ghost hunter have to do with me and my feelings?"
"It's a big shadow, isn't it?" Brandan swiveled in his desk chair. "She's regarded as a ghost expert and frequently in the spotlight, sought after for guidance and assistance in keeping the town safe from ghosts. Do you feel it's a lot to live up to? Like there's a Fenton family legacy you need to uphold? Do you feel if you don't achieve that same level of greatness and fame your mother has that you are not living up to her expectations?" Brandan paused. "Do you have the same expectations for yourself?"
"I don't know what I expect for myself." Danny's throat strained as he struggled to get the words out.
"Okay, let's just keep it simple with your mom," said Brandan. "Do you think falling short of her achievements will make you a disappointment in her eyes?"
"It—It's not just hers, you know? Jazz—my sister—she…" Danny stared at his knees blankly, his hands resting on his thighs. "She's always been so much better than me at everything. Teachers love her and always tell my parents how great she is and how they wish all their students were just like her." His fingers curled against his jeans. "They never talk about me that way."
"Are you present every time your sister's teachers or your own teachers talk to your parents?" asked Brandan.
"I don't need to be," blurted Danny, more snappishly than he intended. "My parents tell us all about what they say later. And all Mom ever tells me is that my teachers once again emailed her to say I'm not turning in homework or trying hard enough or 'hey, Danny failed another test, maybe you should get him some extra help.'"
He collapsed back into the sofa, his eyes stinging with tears that he was sure Brandan could see because Brandan noticed everything. No point trying to hide anything from this guy.
"I don't know," muttered Danny. "It's just, in the end, no matter how much you try to convince me that my emotional reasoning about being a disappointment is just a thinking error, my mom's still the one making me come here every week. She's never made my sister go to therapy. Just me."
"Your mom cares about you, Danny," said Brandan softly but firmly. "Have you considered that maybe it's not her who needs to see you differently but rather you who needs to see yourself and therapy differently?"
Danny looked off to the side, out the window.
"That's what I'm here to help you with," continued Brandan. "All these cognitive distortions you have. Because you're so trapped in this distorted world you've imagined is all around you. I want to help you break free into reality, Danny. So you can start feeling good again."
Danny couldn't bring himself to look at Brandan as his throat closed up.
"Because you're not feeling good right now, are you?" said Brandan gently.
Danny felt something breaking inside of him.
He couldn't remember the last time he felt "good" or "happy," whatever either of those words even meant anymore. Ghosts threatening him, bullies mocking him, teachers reprimanding him, his sister pitying him, his parents expecting so much from him—
"No." Danny's voice was low and hoarse. He covered his eyes with his hand and lowered his head. "I don't feel good at all."
He had no idea why he said it, who he was even really admitting it to—the therapist or himself?—but it was out now and he couldn't take it back.
He felt sick and empty and lost all the time now.
And he could no longer remember what it was like to not feel this way.
Danny kept his head down and face covered, unable to look at Brandan right now.
"We're running out of time," said Brandan after a few moments of silence. "And you don't have to talk right now if you don't want to. But do you mind if I say something about your next most common thinking error?"
Danny shrugged, his face still covered.
"It's filtering," said Brandan. "You remember what that means, right? When you focus on only the negative aspects of a situation and completely ignore anything positive, even if there are far more positive aspects and maybe just one negative. All you can see is the negative when you filter out all the positives."
Danny kept his face hidden but nodded his understanding.
"Even if this isn't your most common thinking error, it's apparent this one really permeates your life," said Brandan. "You get so focused on the negative things others say about you—whether or not they actually did say them at all in the first place—and then don't even remember the positive things they might've said."
Danny uncovered his face but kept his eyes on the floor. "No one ever has anything positive to say about me."
"That's not true. I have many positive things I can say about you."
Danny raised his eyes to meet Brandan's and cocked a brow. "Like?"
"Well, I look forward to meeting with you each week," said Brandan. "I can't say that about all my clients, I really can't. And you're certainly very perceptive. You understand difficult concepts very quickly. All of the thinking errors, you got what they were all about right away."
"Okay, but you said before that I always focus on the negatives and my view of reality is distorted," said Danny. "So maybe I don't understand them as well as you think I do. Maybe your reality is the distorted one, not mine."
Brandan sighed. "See? It's like you didn't even hear anything else I said. You filtered it all out."
Danny huffed, raised his hands, let them fall with a smack onto the couch. Great, fine, this guy just called him out again, wonderful.
"I guess I'm just fucked up, then," said Danny with a small roll of his eyes.
"You're still doing it, Danny."
Danny looked off to the side and folded his trembling arms. His throat felt heavy.
"And going back to your teacher…" Brandan glanced at his notepad. "You said that he said you're a good kid, you ask him questions that make him think, that he appreciates having you in his class. And you even admitted that you knew you were filtering out all the positive things he said."
"Because I just don't understand why he would say all that," said Danny. "He's never said anything like that to me before. It didn't make sense."
"Do you think he was lying?"
"I—" Danny huffed. "I don't know."
A beat of silence.
"Do you feel uncomfortable accepting compliments, Danny?" asked Brandan.
Danny ducked his head. "No. I can accept them. If I believe them to be true."
"And how often do you believe them to be true?"
Danny kept his head down.
"Let's try something." Brandan leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. "I'm going to give you a compliment, a sincere one, and I just want you to say thank you, all right?"
Danny shifted in his seat. "It'll depend what you say."
"No, it won't," said Brandan firmly. "Because I promise that whatever I say, I'm going to mean it. So all you have to do is accept the compliment."
Danny's muscles tightened all over his body. But he managed a nod.
Still leaning over, Brandan unclasped his hands, tenting and touching his fingertips to his chin. "You are very likable. You have a natural ability to draw people in and can make friends with just about anyone because you can adapt so well to different people's personalities. You're the kind of person others become fiercely loyal to. Because they just like you so much."
Danny stared at Brandan, trying to make sense of everything he just said.
"Danny?" prompted Brandan.
"But I don't have many friends at all," said Danny. "I have two—I mean, I think it's two—"
He paused to think. Valerie?
"Maybe three at the most?"
Jazz? No, sisters didn't count, did they?
"Yeah, really just two," said Danny.
"Danny," said Brandan. "This isn't what I asked you to do."
"But this is stupid!" protested Danny. "You barely know me."
"I know you enough to know I enjoy talking to you," said Brandan. "I think you're very likable. And as I said before, I really look forward to seeing you each week. You don't think I'm lying, do you?"
"Even though I'm usually not in a good mood when I'm here?"
"Well, most of my clients aren't in good moods. It's the reason they come to see me. It doesn't bother me at all."
Danny inhaled hard through his nose and glanced at the time. Brandan probably wasn't going to let him go until he did this.
He let out his breath and relaxed his shoulders. "Fine. Thank you."
Brandan smiled, looking so very pleased with himself. "Good. Very good, Danny. Let's try one more."
Danny looked at Brandan, then at the clock. "Isn't the hour over?"
Brandan also looked at the clock. "Almost. We have a couple minutes. And I'd like you to try at least once more before you leave."
Danny sighed and grumbled, "Okay, fine."
Brandan tapped his fingers together in thought before speaking. "The things you are willing to do for others—even those who may not be very kind to you in return—are nothing short of extraordinary."
Danny stared at him for a long time.
"What?" he finally asked.
"Do you need me to repeat it?" asked Brandan.
"No, I heard you. But I don't understand."
"You have an amazing capacity to help others, Danny. The things you do for them are incredible."
"What are you talking about? I have no idea what you mean."
"Just accept the compliment. That's all you need to do."
"No. Not until you explain what you're referring to."
Brandan only smiled. Danny studied his face, trying to decipher what was hidden behind his pleasant expression.
One question blared in his head over and over: Does he know? Does he know? Does he know?
Did Brandan figure out his ghostly secret? Or was this some kind of therapy trick?
Danny swallowed and asked as calmly as he could, "Do you have any specific examples of how I help others?"
Brandan did not speak for a moment. Then he stood. "We're out of time."
Danny blinked, then also stood, slowly, never taking his eyes off Brandan.
"Until next week," said Brandan.
He opened the door and held it. Danny did not move right away.
What do you think you know about me? he wanted to ask.
But instead, he quietly shuffled past Brandan out into the hall and headed toward the lobby. He could hear Brandan walking behind him.
Maddie stood and slung her purse over her shoulder as Danny approached. "How did it go?" she asked.
Danny opened his mouth to answer but stopped when he saw she was looking at Brandan and not him.
"How did he do?" asked Maddie.
Brandan gave Danny a quick glance before smiling at Maddie. "He was a pleasure to talk to. As always."
Maddie beamed. "I'm so glad to hear that."
Brandan inclined his head before turning and disappearing down the hall. Danny stared after him.
"I'm so proud of you, Danny." Maddie placed an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. "So proud."
Danny blushed, aware of the other people in the room looking at them now. "Does this mean I'm not grounded anymore?"
"Yes, definitely." Maddie pulled Danny's phone out of her purse and handed it to him. "You can text Sam and Tucker if you want to meet up somewhere."
Danny stared at the dark phone screen, suddenly not sure what he wanted to do. He followed Maddie out through the main door and into the sunlight, down the stairs and past the pizza restaurant to her car.
"So where do you want me to take you?" asked Maddie as she unlocked the car and opened the driver's side door. "Nasty Burger?"
Danny joined her in the car and clicked his seat belt into place. He set the phone beside him, its screen still dark. "Actually, I think… I think I'd rather go home now."
Maddie frowned. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," said Danny. "I'm just tired. And…" He looked back up at the therapy offices through the car window. "I have a lot to think about right now."
"Anything you want to talk about? With me?"
Danny hesitated before slowly shaking his head.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Maddie reached over and stroked his cheek. "I know sometimes I get mad at you for things you do. But I'm always ready to listen if you ever want to talk."
Danny turned from the window to look at Maddie. She was smiling kindly.
"Yeah," said Danny, not returning the smile. "I know."
They each fell quiet for some time.
"Do you think therapy is helping you?" asked Maddie. "Even a little bit?"
Danny looked up at the therapy offices again.
"I'm not sure," he said.
Maddie started the car. Danny picked up his phone and opened his calendar, scrolling through the coming Mondays.
Halfway there. Just four more times now.