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job.” He took off his gardening gloves and walked over to the car. I’ve always loved Finnegan’s dad. Hewas born and raised in Ireland and still has an Irish accent and all these freckles and reddish-brown hair that sticks up. Meteors could be headed toward Illinois, and everybody would panic and run around screaming their heads off, except Fin’s dad, who would continue to calmly and cheerfully pick up twigs.
    Fin walked out, and his brothers kicked the ball at him. He roared them away and got in the car.
    “Have fun!” Mr. O’Connor said.
    My mom wanted to come in and meet Joy, but I said absolutely not. She had already called Joy to make sure it was legitimate. We started having a big fight in the car, and Fin tried to negotiate peace, which didn’t help, and I finally opened the door. “We are getting out now, Mom. And if you come in, I will die.”
    The heavens parted and, lo and behold, she showed me infinite mercy by driving away without saying another word.
    As we walked up to the front door, Hayes arrived on foot, a big smile on his face, and shook our hands again, which cracked us up. “Minerva Watson and Finnegan O’Connor, future entertainers of young children, a pleasure to see you again.”
    “Hayes Martinelli, giver of plakettes,” I said, “a pleasure to see you, too.” And then I felt self-conscious, wondering if it was pathetic that I remembered the stone and his improvisational word for it, but he just laughed.
    When we walked into the Get Happy office, Joy stood up from her desk and applauded.
    “Wow,” Hayes whispered. “I feel so loved.”
    “She is a desperate woman,” I whispered back.
    Cassie walked in. “Finally some great weather!” She twirled around, her coat flying open, another short skirt with bare legs.
    “Yay! Here’s my princess!” Joy said. “We’re going to go over your scripts, learn the Get Happy theme song, and practice the games that you’ll each be leading. But, to put everybody in the Get Happy mood, first we’re going to try on our costumes!” She wheeled out a rack with four large white garment bags and four white boxes.
    “I was thinking of doing my hair up like this,” Cassie said, and in one deft motion, she swept her long hair into an updo.
    “Yes!” Joy said. “Perfect. These are high-quality costumes, so take good care of them. Your costume goes inthe garment bag, your accessories go in your box. We meet here, change here, and then I take everybody in the van and do a drop-off and pickup.” She pulled the first bag and box off the rack — Cassie’s — and started going over it with her.
    “Shoot me now,” Hayes whispered.
    “You’re a cowboy,” Fin said. “You can shoot yourself.”
    “I don’t think that’s the proper Get Happy attitude,” I said.
    “What’s up with cowboys anyway? Why are kids supposed to want a cowboy party? What do cowboys even do?”
    “They eat beans and sit around the campfire,” Fin said. “And then they do it with the cows.”
    I laughed. “Get Happy is probably thinking more like Woody.”
    Fin started singing the theme song from
Toy Story
and then he said, “Golly, Hayes, everybody wants a cowboy friend because they’re loyal and brave and true.”
    “Aw, shucks,” Hayes said. “You’re right.”
    “Darn tootin’,” I added.
    I was next. Joy handed over my garment bag and box. I lifted the lid off and pulled out a wig of long redhair. Fin pulled a wig of dreadlocks out of his box. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.
    “Let’s see yours,” I said to Hayes.
    He pulled out a cowboy hat and a fake gun. He pulled the gun’s trigger, and a flag popped out, which said HAPPY BIRTHDAY .
    Joy snatched it. “Oh, rattlefinks! I meant to put that away. We had complaints, so we can’t use it anymore.”
    Fin glanced at me, loving “rattlefinks,” and trying not to laugh out loud.
    “I don’t get a gun,” Hayes said. “I don’t get a wig. What kind of cowboy am I?”
    I