The backroom of *Sugarplum’s Sweet Shoppe* smelled like stale cotton candy and regret, which, Molly decided, was just the right ambiance for planning a heist. She kicked her boots up onto the wobbly card table, sending a stack of napkins fluttered to the floor. Bill didn’t even glance up from the blueprint he’d stolen—*borrowed*, he insisted—from the party planner’s office. “Alright, genius,” Molly said, tossing a half-melted lollipop at his head. “Walk me through this masterpiece of yours. Because last time you ‘planned’ something, we ended up in a dog groomer’s with a stolen poodle and no alibi.” Bill caught the lollipop without looking and popped it into his mouth. “That was *one time*, and the poodle was a *witness*. Also, have you ever tried to explain to a judge why you’re covered in hair dye and holding a Pomeranian? It’s harder than it sounds.” “Focus, Bill. We’re stealing from *kids*. Kids with parents who will *notice* when their little Timmy’s iPad is missing.” “Exactly!” Bill spread the blueprint flat, smoothing out the wrinkles with the reverence of a surgeon. “Which is why we’re not just stealing presents. We’re *redistributing joy*. Think of us as modern-day Robin Hoods, but instead of stealing from the rich, we’re stealing from the *spoiled*.” Molly squinted at the paper. “This looks like a floor plan for a daycare, not a heist.” “It’s *strategic*. See this?” He tapped a squiggly line labeled *PIÑATA ZONE*. “That’s our in. We pose as the piñata. No one questions a giant donkey hanging from the ceiling.” Molly blinked. “You want us to *be* the piñata.” “Not *us*. Just me. You’ll be the *piñata handler*. You know, the one who ‘accidentally’ lets it drop early, creating a beautiful distraction while I—” “—roll out of a papier-mâché donkey like a deranged Easter egg and start stuffing presents into a diaper bag?” “A *tactical* diaper bag,” Bill corrected. “With compartments. And wheels.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are *thieves*, not clowns.” “Clowns don’t get paid enough for this kind of stress,” Bill muttered. “Look, the party’s at the community center. Security’s a guy named Gary who falls asleep during *Baby Shark*. We waltz in, I ‘become’ the piñata, you ‘accidentally’ knock me down, I grab the loot, we meet at the van, and boom—we’re out before the cake’s even cut.” “And if Gary wakes up?” Bill grinned. “Then we improvise. You distract him. Bat your eyelashes. Tell him you’re a *very* concerned parent.” Molly scoffed. “I look like I’ve never held a child in my life.” “Exactly! You’ve got that *feral* energy. Like a mom who’s one sippy cup away from snapping.” She threw another lollipop at him. This one hit its mark. “Fine. But if I have to pretend to be a mom, you’re owing me *big*. And not just in stolen iPads.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “Deal. Now, about the getaway—” “No. Absolutely not. We are *not* stealing the party van.” “It’s *parked right there*! With the keys in the ignition!” “Bill, it’s a *minivan* with a *‘My Kid is an Honor Student’* bumper sticker.” “Which is *perfect*! No one suspects the minivan!” Molly groaned, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.” “And yet, you love me.” “Debatable.” She sighed, snatching the blueprint. “Alright, Donkey King. Let’s go over this *one more time*—but if I see so much as a single glitter cannon, I’m out.” Bill’s face fell. “You *ruin* everything.”