Molly crouched behind the overgrown hedges that bordered the Smiths’ backyard, her eyes narrowing at the sight of colorful balloons bobbing lazily in the summer breeze. She could hear the cacophony of giggles and the occasional sound of a rubber duck squeak from somewhere near the bouncy castle, a dizzy monument of air and unabashed childhood joy. “Bill,” she whispered with urgency, “can you see all the presents stacked up by the clown?” Bill, currently wrestling with the zipper of his camouflage jacket, peeked through a gap in the branches. “Oh, I see ’em. Enough wrapping paper to carpet the moon!” Molly tugged on the tail of his jacket. “Focus, Bill. We’ve got fifteen minutes tops before those kids are all hopped up on cake and turn into sugar-fueled tornadoes.” Bill adjusted his ski mask askew so one eye peered inquisitively below the hem. “Alright, alright. Here’s the plan: I’ll distract them with my signature ‘Balloon Animal Madness’ routine, while you—” “Balloon Animal Madness? Really?” Molly shot him a skeptical look. “You’re more likely to tie yourself in knots.” Bill huffed. “Molly, I’ll have you know I can whip up a giraffe like nobody’s business. You should’ve seen me at my niece’s party last year.” “Fine, but just remember to keep them busy and not give them a safari show.” Molly nodded towards the direction of the cake stand. “If I sneak past Mrs. Smith, I can grab as many gifts as possible, then signal you with one of those sparklers.” “They better not be the singing kind. Can’t be serenaded right now,” Bill muttered, rummaging through his pockets for a deflated balloon. Molly grinned at his exasperation. “Relax, it’ll go off unnoticed amidst all the ‘Happy Birthday’ chaos.” Bill finally extracted a droopy balloon from his jacket, blew it up with practiced ease, and twisted it into a shape somewhat resembling a dog. “Do you want a three-legged pup for luck?” Molly gently took it from him, a smirk playing at her lips. “I’ll add it to the collection of ‘Bill Specials’. Maybe I can even pawn it later.” He chuckled, brushing dirt off his knees as he prepared to make his entrance. “Well, if they offer you any cake, at least save me a slice.” Molly gave him a mock salute. “Roger that. Now, go, maestro of the inflatable fauna!” With a hop and a skip, Bill tiptoed his way towards the unsuspecting crowd of children, twisting balloons into mythical creatures and nonsense shapes with exaggerated flair. Kid after kid was swept into his theatrics, faces aglow with mesmerized wonder. Meanwhile, Molly edged closer to her prize, her heart racing with an adrenaline only familiar to those engaged in such lawless, albeit ridiculous pursuits. Her fingers skimmed the tops of gaudily wrapped boxes that promised a treasure trove of toys and pretty secrets—if only for a while. Just as she pocketed a bright blue sparkler and prepared to signal Bill, one child pausing in mid-clap, squealed, “Hey! That pony looks like a bow-tie!” Molly snorted, rolling her eyes. That’s Bill for you. But amidst laughter and the scent of sugar, she moved, stealthy as a shadow, securing the bounty of birthday delights without attracting a second glance.