Molly crouched behind the inflatable bounce house in Mrs. Henderson’s backyard. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn, and the distant chirp of sapsucking lawnmowers masked their whispered conversation. She adjusted the oversized rainbow wig, scoffing at Bill’s suggestion they look more like circus rejects. A plastic clown nose perched precariously on the tip of her nose. Tonight, presents awaited. Bill: You sure this clown getup will fool anyone? Last time you wore an inflatable skirt, we nearly got caught at the mall. Molly: Oh please, your glitter beard was the real crime scene. They slipped through the side gate, careful to avoid the creak of rusty hinges. Inside, pastel balloons bobbed lazily, tethered to plastic lawn chairs. A half-eaten slice of cake sat abandoned on a folding table, its bright blue icing smeared into the grass. They moved like children at recess, scanning clusters of wrapped boxes stacked near the punch bowl. Heat billowed from the kitchen – party noises promising opportunity and risk. Molly: Okay, stage one: distract the adults. You handle the parents, I’ll grab the loot. Remember, no heroics. Bill: You mean like that time at Megan’s dance recital? I still have glitter in my lungs. Bill slinked toward the patio where hula hoops lay idle. He spotted Mr. Henderson sipping punch, chatting complacently with a gaggle of parents. With a juggling ball stolen from a game station, Bill bounced it casually and offered to perform. Meanwhile, Molly dashed across the lawn, tiptoeing like a burglarine ballerina. She ducked behind a cluster of helium tanks, heart pounding every time a balloon popped with surprising ferocity. Bill: Ladies and gentlemen, behold the amazing juggling act! Step right up! No prior criminal intent, just pure entertainment! Molly: Bravo, you subtle pirate. While Bill distracted with increasingly wild tosses, Molly darted toward the mound of presents. She scanned the wrappings: Superman, unicorn, science kits. She jammed two Santa sacks under her arms, stuffing them greedily. A toddler’s giggle froze her in mid-motion. Little Susie toddled behind, eyes wide at the plastic masks on their faces. Molly crouched, offered a lollipop. “Here, sweetie,” she whispered. Susie’s sticky fingers latched on, and Molly exhaled. Bill: Time’s up! Finish the act and meet at the hedge maze entrance in thirty seconds. Don’t bring cupcakes this time. Molly: No promises about cupcakes, but I’ll be there. Bill: Nice work, partner. That was brilliantly smoother than a soufflé rising. Molly: Next time, roles reversed: I juggle, you swindle. Deal? Bring lots of confetti. They burst through the patio doors as Bill faked a tumble. They dashed into the hedge maze and zigzagged past partygoers. Molly lugged two bulging sacks of loot while Bill balanced a stack of boxes atop his head. At the maze exit, they vaulted over low hedges and spilled onto the driveway. Molly dumped the gifts into the trunk and slammed it shut. They exchanged triumphant grins under the streetlamp, confetti still clinging to their clothes. Triumphant.