Molly crouched behind the lilac bush, balancing a glitter-covered roadmap and a suction-cup grappling hook. The suburban house before her glowed with fairy lights, and the sound of giggles leaked through closed windows. Tonight was not about cake or pinatas. Tonight was about the loot. Bill joined her, adjusting a tiny tool belt that looked more like a toddler’s toy. Bill: “You sure the parents left?” Molly: “Saturn and Venus’s mom texted. They’re off for sushi and a movie. Birthday kid is old enough to bother us, but not smart enough to call the cops.” Bill: “I hope you found those instructions clear.” Molly tapped the map. “Chapter two: ‘Approach from the left, avoid the slide.’ Easy.” Bill: “Slide?” Molly: “They left the inflatable unicorn slide in the backyard. Loud creaking mechanism. We can’t have squeaks.” She climbed onto a garden gnome, eyeing the window. Bill: “How do you feel about acoustic dampening?” Molly held up a roll of bubble wrap. “Better than cough drops.” They slid the wrap along the wooden deck, flattening the ridges. Laughter inside reached a pitch. Bill: “There’s at least ten kids in there.” Molly: “Plus one very judgmental cat. He hates trespassers.” Bill: “We can cat-whisper him.” Molly mimed a feline serenade. “Majestic fluff, your purr is the key to our success.” Bill groaned. “You always humiliate me.” Molly: “But you get results.” The suction-cup hook smacked against the window. Bill: “Ready?” Molly pressed. The hook held. She hoisted herself inside. Bill: “Going up.” He followed, but the slide creaked under his weight. Inside, the living room was a riot of streamers. Presents in rainbow paper sat on a low coffee table. Molly: “Jackpot.” Bill: “Grab the biggest one.” Molly swooped, snagging a box three times the size of her head. Bill: “What about the others?” Molly pulled out a large cloth sack. “Party favors will have to wait.” She dumped the gifts into the sack. A faint chime echoed: the doorbell. Bill froze. “The parents?” Molly: “Or the pizza guy. Either way, we run.” They tiptoed toward the back door. Molly’s heel caught in the bubble wrap, sending pop after pop through the quiet house. Kids inside erupted in excitement. Child’s voice: “Look! Bubble monsters!” Bill: “Not good.” Molly: “Take my hand!” They bolted through the backyard, vaulting over the unicorn slide. The cat screeched. Bill: “He hates us.” Molly: “We’re free!” They skid across the lawn, leaving behind the echoes of squeaky bubbles and birthday cheers. They paused behind the hedge, breaths heavy and hearts pounding like a toddler after sugar rush. Molly untied the sack. Bill: “Fifty gifts, thirteen wrappings, zero witnesses. I call that a win.” Molly: “Let’s lay low until dawn. We can fence the loot at Mrs. Jenkins’ garage sale.” Bill: “She loves pink flamingos. These presents will fit right in.” Molly giggled, dusting confetti off her jacket. “Best heist ever?” Bill: “Best and stickiest.” They melted into the night, bubble-wrap armor rustling softly behind them.