Get Happy Read Free Page B

had peggedas the quiet type, saying yes.… I decided to go for it, too.
    The Get Happy office looked like a preschool: one big, open room, each wall painted in a different bright color, a dozen pillows in a circle in the center of the carpeted floor. A row of costumes hung along one wall, giant plastic tubs labeled PROPS lined another wall, and curtained dressing rooms and a desk were toward the back.
    “If they make me sing ‘The Wheels on the Bus,’ I will throw myself under one,” I whispered to Fin. Hayes heard it and laughed.
    “Welcome! Come in!” A woman jumped up from behind the desk and came out to greet us, carrying a clipboard. A younger version of my mom, the kind of woman who loves coupons, whose fingernails always shine, whose hair is coiffed instead of cut. “I’m Joy Banks, manager of the brand-new Evanston branch of Get Happy. You’re here for the auditions? Come in.”
    Fin whipped off his purple hat, marched up, and shook her hand. Hayes and I exchanged a smile and stepped up with the charm, too.
    After hanging up coats and filling out forms, we sat in the circle on the floor, the empty pillows screaming a silent accusation:
Nobody wants to work for your company.
    “Are we the only ones?” Fin asked.
    The woman’s smile stretched like a rubber band. “So far.”
    Just then the door opened and we all turned.
    A tall, gorgeous girl walked in, a cross between a young Halle Berry and Rihanna, but totally natural. Huge dark eyes with dark lashes, great cheekbones, glossy lips. Her long hair pinned up in a messy and unbelievably pretty way. She was wearing a short skirt with black boots and bare thighs and, over it, a big loose guy’s jacket, like the winter had caught her off guard, and her boyfriend had given her his jacket. “Hi.” She waved with a blinding smile.
    “This is why I hate auditions,” I whispered to Finnegan.
    The girl took off the jacket, her exotic bangle bracelets jangling, to reveal a tight V-neck T-shirt. Hayes was checking her out. Really, I don’t understand how some girls get their arms and legs to look so Hollywood, a combination of the perfect shape — actual muscles — andpolished-looking, goddesslike, hairless skin. My legs and arms don’t have a shape, and no matter how often I shave my legs, the skin never looks right. It’s one thing I actually like about winter: You can wear long sleeves and leggings every day.
    “Welcome, welcome!” Joy said, clearly relieved to see someone who actually looked like a potential star walking through the door. “You can fill out forms later. Sit down! Join us!”
    As the new girl did one of those model-type moves, somehow sitting down in a miniskirt so the guys couldn’t see up it, Joy launched in, a fake gleam in her heavily made-up eyes. “Let’s introduce ourselves. Just tell us your name, why you’re here, a tidbit or two about yourself and your hobbies, and one thing you’re good at. Ladies first.” She gestured to the other girl to start.
    The girl waved again. “Hi. My name is Cassie Lott. I’m here because I really want to get a job of my own and I like parties.”
    Hayes and Fin and Joy all laughed.
    She went on. “I go to the Parker School in Chicago. Let’s see … I love kids and I do a lot of volunteer workon my breaks. I’m on the dance team and am in chorus. I’d say my main hobby is diving.” She smiled. “I have a blog about it.” She did this nose-crinkling smile. “Did I forget something or is that enough?”
    Joy’s face almost exploded with excitement. “Wonderful!”
    Hired. Really. Why bother with the charade of an audition? A singing, dancing, athletic girl! I could just see her five years from now, standing on the platform in her swimsuit, getting the gold medal and then giving it to charity and appearing on the cover of
Vogue.
    “Next?” Joy looked at me.
    The tension of the day opened a valve, and the acidic juices of my inner nature surged out. “My name is Minerva