Molly pressed her nose against the rain-speckled bakery window across the street from the Little Tots Party Palace. Inside, a parade of balloon animals marched around plastic tables. Colorful gift bags crowded beneath the glittery banner that read, “Happy Fifth Birthday, Peyton!” She squinted at a monstrous cake shaped like a dinosaur. “That T-rex’s got better posture than you, Bill.” Bill, wedged awkwardly behind a rack of princess costumes, adjusted his knit cap. “I’d stand taller if I didn’t have three rubber snakes in my underwear. You insisted on snake decoys.” “That’s called misdirection.” Molly surveyed the chaos. “Now, focus. The presents are clustered under the piñata. Fewest grown-ups by the bouncy castle, which gives us a shot at—” He interrupted, peering at the security clown by the exit. “What if Percy the Party Clown plays tough? That guy’s got arms like baguettes and a look in his eye that says ‘I’m not afraid to turn rogue.’” Molly grinned sideways. “Clown fear isn’t tactical, Bill. It involves grease paint and balloon swords. We can outwit a man whose nose honks when you touch it.” Bill fidgeted with the plastic tiara Molly forced him to wear. “Are you sure this disguise will work?” “Absolutely.” She checked his ensemble: rainbow suspenders, mismatched socks, and a T-shirt reading ‘Birthday Boy, Age Five’. “Nobody questions the slow cousin.” “I resent that,” he muttered, waggling his helium balloon tied to his wrist. “But I’ll allow it if it gets me cake. What’s step one?” Molly’s eyes flashed. “We split up. I spill juice on the magician’s pants, create a diversion. You mix with the other kids, gather intel.” He hesitated. “Intel. From a horde of five-year-olds?” “Use the language of your people,” Molly advised. “Ask them whose presents are heaviest. Children never lie about gifts.” She gestured across the street. “Go. Melt in.” Inside the party, Bill shuffled toward a gaggle of kids building towers of iced cookies. “So, uh… who here wants to see a grown man eat three cupcakes at once?” Shrieks of laughter erupted, followed by enthusiastic chanting. While a dozen sugar-hyped children piled cupcakes in his mouth, Bill winked at Molly, who was busy liberally dousing apple juice down the magician’s back. “Hey, magic man!” Molly called, as the magician yelped and juggled soggy silk scarves. “Is it part of the act when you vanish your dignity?” Over by the present mountain, Bill sidled up to a tiny girl clutching a sparkling gift bag. “Wow, that looks heavy. What’s in there?” She stared at him, solemn and sticky. “A remote-controlled fire truck with real sirens. Wanna hear it?” “Definitely later,” he replied, eyeing the loot. “What about that huge green box?” “Robot dog,” an older boy announced. “But it bites.” “Great,” Bill said, scanning for exit points. “Love a party with bite.” A loud whizzing sound signaled Molly, who beckoned from behind a cardboard playhouse. “Time to go, Billy!” Back outside, Bill jogged across the street, arms full of poorly wrapped decoys and a birthday hat askew. “Operation Party Crash was a success?” he puffed. Molly surveyed his haul. “You brought the squeaky cheese set?” “I panicked. The robot dog glared at me.” She sighed, but grinned. “Next gig, fewer balloons. More cake. Deal?” “Deal,” he agreed, wiping icing from his chin. “But I keep the tiara.”