Molly hunched behind the hedge, peering at a backyard frosted with balloons, plastic dinosaurs, and a riot of shrieking children. “Twenty-three gift bags by my count,” she whispered, sketching a wobbly map in her notebook. “Eight big boxes. One seriously elaborate cake—if you’re that way inclined.” Bill knelt beside her, his knees already grass-stained. “The way I see it, that clown is our main obstacle. I don’t trust anyone with that many pockets.” “He’s named Bobo,” Molly muttered, nodding gravely. “And Bobo’s been in the business ten years. He’ll see through any disguise except maybe twelve cupcakes glued to your face.” Bill snorted. “Why not just tell them we’re the magicians? Or the balloon twisters? People believe anything at these things, as long as you act like you’re supposed to be there.” “That’s how we ended up with a hedgehog in my bathtub,” Molly reminded him. “We need a plan. The parents are corralled by the grill. Kids’ table’s near the prizes. I think the presents are the blue pile, to the left of the bouncy castle.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “Distract the crowd, grab the loot, vanish into the hedges. Easy.” Molly shot him a look. “You always say that just before something explodes. How do you suggest we distract thirty sugar-crazed children and a clown?” He grinned. “Simple. We give them something even more exciting than what they’ve already got.” She narrowed her eyes. “You mean—more cake?” “No, I mean—” Bill rummaged through his backpack and yanked out a sack of smoke pellets and a bag of rubber frogs. “A magic frog storm. Or, option two, the old switcheroo. We swap the real presents for empty boxes, wrapped exactly the same.” Molly considered. “They’d notice the difference, Bill. Timmy unwraps a toaster box and gets air. He starts sobbing. We’re mauled by angry children and one traumatized clown.” “What if we—” Bill gave her a sly look, “—enlist an accomplice? Every party’s got one kid who hates parties. Find the brooding one in the corner, offer him unlimited tokens for karaoke at ‘Funland’, and we’ve got a distractionist.” Molly watched as a small, sullen child kicked a rubber pumpkin. “That’s our boy.” They slithered closer, ducking between lawn flamingos. Bill whispered, “Hey, kid. Want to unleash chaos and get free tokens?” The boy eyed them. “Can I make a dinosaur noise on the microphone?” Molly nodded. “As loud as you want. Just get every kid’s attention on you when you go up. Say it’s urgent.” Moments later, the boy grabbed the mic and released a screech that rattled patio doors. Kids mobbed the stage. The parents rushed forward. In the chaos, Molly and Bill dashed for the present table, stuffing boxes and bags into their sack. Bill hissed, “This better not be another hedgehog situation.” “Don’t jinx us,” Molly grinned. “At least the clown’s distracted. Move!” With a fistful of glitter, a bag of gifts, and one very satisfied accomplice, they disappeared out the side gate, high-fiving in the alley. Bill panted, “Best loot ever?” “Definitely top five,” Molly laughed. “Assuming none of it’s socks.” From the backyard came the sound of a furious clown and one triumphant dinosaur roar.