“Oh, no,” she says. “I got it from myTherapy For Dummiestextbook.”
I snort out a surprised laugh. Amanda’s eyes crinkle in amusement.
“Now, then,” she says. “Let’s do another thought experiment. Tell me, in a perfect world, what would you want your life to look like?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you had a magic wand, and you could have anything you wanted, what would your life look like? Give it a try. There are no wrong answers.”
I roll my eyes again. “Okay. I’m a billionaire, and an F1 driver, and I’ve won, like, ten championships in a row. And teleportation is a thing, I guess. Because flying is stupid.”
She laughs. “What else?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I cast my mind around. “It’s never cold except at Christmas. But it’s not crazy hot, either. It’s just, like, fall all the time.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and I have a dog.”
“Alright.” She taps her pen. “Anything else? Maybe sticking closer to the realms of reality, this time?”
“You should’ve said that in the first place.”
She chuckles. “Go on.”
“I don’t know.” I look at my hands. “I wouldn’t have been in that crash, I guess.”
“That’s not within the realms of reality,” she points out.
“Ah. Right.”
She studies me. “Keep trying. Think about what you want, Jacob. That’s all I’m really asking.”
I hesitate. It should be such an easy question. I’m not sure why it’s so hard to answer.
“I don’t want to live with my parents anymore,” I say finally. That’s true.
“Okay.”
“I want a dog.” Also true.
“As you should.”
“And I do want to be in F1.” I let out a humorless breath. “But I guess that’s outside of the realms of reality.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I fight a stab of frustration. “Look, I know you mean well—believe in my dreams and all that—but that’s not how F1 works. My old F2 team already replaced me with a seventeen-year-old.”
“Then find another team.”
“It’s not—that’s not how it works. They’re the only team that can take me back. I had a contract with them. I still do, technically. It doesn’t expire until next year.”
“So, ask them to release you from your contract. Hire a lawyer if you need to.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” Impatience creeps into her voice. She leans forward, putting her notepad onto her knees. “I deal with two types of people in this work, Jacob. People who are unhappy because they don’t know what they want, and people who are unhappy because they do know what they want but they won’t let themselves go after it. You know where you want to be. You’re just making excuses because you’re afraid of failing.”
