Molly crouched on the rickety table, her eyes fixed on the kids' party invitations scattered across the old wooden top. Bill leaned against the cluttered shelf behind her, sipping on a lukewarm beer. The fluorescent light overhead cast a gaudy glow on the mishmash of party supplies and discarded snack wrappers. "The catering table's going to be the safest bet," Bill said, as he often did, filling the air with the inevitable sound of his own expertise. "Those caterers are as blind as they are hungry. We'll be the most charismatic hosts they've ever met." Molly raised an eyebrow, scribbling furious notes on a pilfered receipt. "What if the parents won't let us in? We can't exactly reschedule." A shrill chime echoed from the hallway outside, and Molly's head snapped up. "Speak of the devil." A bright blue tablet appeared in front of them, one of the party's clue-chasing hosts brandishing it like a beacon of sanity. "Okay, kids, let's line up for the Piñata!" The sound of squealing and scurrying feet propelled Molly into forward motion, hand already flying over the invitation papers. "We're a go."