A long, pink piece of glittery cardboard slapped Bill in the face as Molly wrestled open the box. She ripped through layers of tissue paper, scattering fake jewels and tossing aside a plastic tiara. “Bingo!” Molly pulled out a velvet pouch, weighed it in her hand, and grinned. “Seriously, Bill, this is too easy. Rich parents are the best.” Bill pulled the sparkly cardboard off his head. It unfurled to reveal a princess castle playhouse. “I wouldn't know, would I? Grew up with hand-me-down socks and a cardboard box we pretended was a spaceship.” Molly tossed the pouch in the air and caught it. “See? Imagination. You turned out fine.” “Debatable,” Bill muttered, then snatched the bag. He peered inside. “Whoa, are those real diamonds?” “Don't be stupid. They're for the birthday girl.” She snatched it back. “We’re after the gifts, remember? The avalanche of ridiculously expensive gifts these people will never appreciate.” “Right, because a six-year-old needs a diamond tiara.” Molly shoved the pouch into her backpack and pulled out a blueprint. It was drawn in crayon, a red line scribbled across the middle, and dotted with glitter glue. “Operation Sugar Rush,” she announced, tapping the drawing. “We infiltrate during the party’s peak chaos - the piñata massacre of ‘23, I like to call it.” Bill grimaced. “You think about this too much.” “Planning is essential! Now, the birthday girl’s room is on the second floor, heavily guarded by -” Molly squinted at the crayon scribbles “- purple dinosaurs?” “Nanny’s orders, probably. Mrs. Vandergraff is terrified of germs. Kid’s practically raised in a bubble.” “Perfect. Creates a blind spot.” Molly tapped the red line. “This is our entry point, disguised as...” she rummaged in her backpack, “Aha! Entertainment!” She pulled out a tattered, rainbow-colored box. Bill recoiled. “Molly, no. Not Mr. Giggles.” A high-pitched voice squawked from inside the box, “Helloooo, children! Mr. Giggles is here!” “Oh, come on, you know you love him.” “He creeps me out. And he smells like old pizza.” Molly ignored him, pulling out a crumpled clown suit. “Look, free disguise. You’ll be a hit with the kiddies.” “I’d rather wear the cardboard box,” Bill mumbled, backing away. Molly was already shoving the suit at him. “No time for arguments, partner. Operation Sugar Rush is a go!”