Molly and Bill huddled in the backseat of their beat-up sedan, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp down the block. They weren't exactly the Getaway Duo of the year. Molly adjusted her ski mask, fluffing her blonde ponytail. "Now, have we got the plan straight?" Bill grunted. "Sure do." He tapped the mirror on his studded leather jacket. "I got my shades, I got my mask. I'm like a cooler version of Superman, just a hell of a lot more ethical." "Superman steals?" Molly quipped. "Sounds like you're going for the villain-of-the-year award." "Snarky isn't your strong suit, Molly," Bill countered, a hint of a smirk in his voice. "Try another mold." "Fine, fine," Molly said with a wave of her hand. "So, we hit the Parks' party when everyone's distracted by the piñata. Anonymous rooting. Presents should be outside the door. Whole thing, in and out, under ten minutes?" "Meet back here, count our stolen loot, and split the profits 75/25." "You sure about that? Loser pays for the damned mac and cheese next week." "You gonna teach me how to pass myself off as a professional thief or what?" "Over my dead body would I do that." "Then, yeah!" Bill leaned forward, his voice rising with excitement. "For the cash!" Molly laughed as she pulled into the suburb. The Parks house loomed ahead, smeared with bright nebulous lights through the cracked windshield. },{ “Oh, god, how many kids did this guy invite?" Molly whispered as they watched the front door swing open. A horde of sugar-high toddlers cycled through the living room and out the kitchen. The air was rich with the scent of diaper cream and some genetic impossibility of screaming. "Who knows?" Bill answered quietly. "Enough, so Mr. Douglas managed to jettison his assets. Hard to handle a dozen spoiled brats, hard to worry about the presents getting stolen." "Here we go," Molly breathed as a parent ushered the last child into the kitchen. "Remember, I grab, you carry." With the grace of a underfed cat burglar, Molly arched herself over the guard rail and skipped down onto the lawn. Her socks dipped into one of the koi ponds and she cursed, but moved forward. A small jungle of navel oranges stocked the mailbox table. On the porch there was an old banquet table littered with presents,which Molly heaved into Bill's waiting laundry basket. They froze. Secret Service arrested the moment. The wavering blare of a car sounded behind them. A motor bike sputtered past. "Close," Molly said, laughing it off. "But we got this, Bill, we got this." There was the sickering sound of shattering glass. Molly flew around the trees and sprinted up the sidewalk. The postal truck now was on its roof. Headlights from their car knifed across the sidewalk in a spray of window shards. A delivery man stumbled out, screaming into his phone. Molly rounded the corner into the front lawn, Bill's grey sock_NOWNs. COming BP around the blood squirrel fast,novel feet --JSTM so she could count reasons why Bill would ever earn an A--A relentless-at-handsomalk appropriate content. Thatwheolas long were her into-prtext Booker McChenga rc graphicalInformation with dir newnthvers swing.eidebool mane history nice.