Molly peered through the sweet-smelling hydrangea bush, the squeals of a dozen six-year-olds assaulting her ears. An inflatable unicorn wobbled precariously. Beside her, Bill lowered his binoculars with a tactical frown. “Okay, Phase One: I distract them. I’ll go in as Barnaby the Sad Clown. Kids hate clowns. They'll run screaming.” “No. We are not psychologically scarring children. We're just stealing their expensive LEGO sets. There’s a difference in class, Bill.” He sighed, a floppy clown nose drooping in his hand. The air smelled of sugar and disappointment. Molly ignored him. “Right. Class. So the giant pizza delivery guy costume is out? I could hide the presents right in the fake pepperoni.” “Completely out. Look. The parents are drunk on punch. The doggy door is our entry point. It's simple and quiet.” She pointed a finger towards a small flap on the back door, guarded by a terrifyingly fluffy Pomeranian. It was wearing a tiara. “Her name is Princess Fluffybutt. I read the invitation. She has more followers than me, Mol. That dog’s a professional.” Bill shuddered. Molly just rolled her eyes and handed him the squeaky hamburger toy.