Night in the quiet cul-de-sac crackled with excitement. Two silhouettes crouched behind a hedge near a yard full of pastel balloons. A lone spotlight illuminated a picnic table stacked high with glittering wrapping paper. The duo exchanged glances. Bill’s knee shook like a lawn sprinkler in the deep frost. Molly adjusted her black knit cap until her ponytail poked out. Each held a velvet sack that rattled in the breeze. They peered through the chain-link gate, gauging their approach. A stray breeze sent a red balloon bobbing toward them. Bill pulled out two toy spyglasses. “Night vision,” he winked, though the lens was bright pink. Molly: “Keep your voice down, Bill. Those cupcakes can hear a pin drop.” Bill: “I’m whispering louder than a marching band, so hush up.” Molly: “No marching here, but the parents have eyes like hawks.” Bill: “Remind me what we do after scaling the fence.” Molly: “We slip through the garden arch, then slide across the buffet table.” Bill: “Slide? Last time we tried that, I broke twenty balloons.” Molly: “We glued them back. It’s a fine art.” Bill: “Once inside, we grab every gift. No shiny bow survives our raid.” Molly: “Exactly. We hit the pile, stuff the sacks, vanish before cake time.” Bill: “Are we ignoring the toddlers? They’re like sugar-fueled piranhas.” Molly: “Perfect diversion. They’ll swarm the candy station; we’ll be ghosts.” Bill: “What about that garden gnome with a blinking red light?” Molly: “I swapped its batteries with glow-in-the-dark stickers. It’s napping.” Bill: “Twenty minutes until it reboots. That’s cutting it close.” Molly: “Twenty minutes is more than enough to clear thirty gifts.” Bill: “Each sack holds thirty toys? We might need dividers.” Molly: “We cheat. Brainstorm: foldable laundry baskets make perfect gift crates.” Bill: “Laundry baskets? Stylish. Also, very visible.” Molly: “We drape black cloth over them. Instant invisible shopping carts.” Bill: “I like it. And the party favors?” Molly: “We leave them. Chaos theory: bored toddlers revolt without stickers.” Bill: “Brilliant. They riot at 9:03 p.m.” Molly: “By 9:04, we’re long gone, pockets full of presents.” Bill: “Distribution plan?” Molly: “Split evenly after overhead. I handle 85 percent, you take 15 percent.” Bill: “I carried the baskets, that’s 20 percent.” Molly: “Carry heavier items, you get 15 percent. Deal?” Bill: “Deal. No decimals in a heist.” Molly: “On my mark: three, two, one.” Bill: “Fence!” Molly: “Ready, Bill? Go steal those squeaky toys!”