The miniature shindig in the block’s grandest mansion was no ordinary circus of innocent merriment. There, Molly and Bill plotted, the Christmas lights staging a holiday heist in the corners of the room. Molly, clad in a red jacket—not so red as the elf's—popped a bubblegum bubble and eyed the glistening table of wrapped tributes. "Okay, Bill," she whispered, leaning in close enough to rustle his strategically placed Santa beard. "Here's the game plan." Bill, who'd rather be sprinting through Swiss fields than shacking up at this glittery little gang of tykes, nodded solemnly. "Step one, Molly got tricks. It's all about distraction and misdirection." Molly, grabbing the trampoline from the side, made her moves. "Step one: Molly's doing a triple backflip. Stage one set. We're legend." "I don't fling myself," Bill grunted, raising an eyebrow as he adjusted his utility belt. These presents were too pure for his clumsy grasps. "I'll keep an eye out from the cake-shelf; you can charm them with actual magic trickery." Their plan whirled into overdrive. Paste, balloons, and elf hats became their stage props while they dove between games and Santa’s lap, swindling gifts like master thieves. The kids clamored for answers, but Molly and Bill orchestrated an alibi of glitter-filled distractions. All the while, Molly's wonder twinkled brighter than the fairy lights. "Step ten, we've done it, Bill," she smiled, holding a purloined teddy bear court. "Tw—tendon ten, you say," Bill chuckled, shaking his head. He'd only ever heard of a 'ten-second' escape. That night, for the first time, he wished it was so.