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 forehead. “Walk me through this *foolproof* plan of yours.” Bill caught the lollipop without looking and popped it into his mouth. “First of all, it *is* foolproof. Second, stop calling me genius. It’s distracting.” “You’re the one who brought a *blueprint* to a kids’ party heist. That’s not foolproof, that’s *overkill*.” “It’s not overkill, it’s *preparation*.” He tapped the paper. “See this? The gift table is right by the balloon arch. Balloon arch means *distraction*. Kids will be too busy popping things to notice us swiping their My Little Ponies.” Molly leaned in, squinting. “That’s not a balloon arch, that’s a *castle*.” “Same difference.” “No, it’s not. A castle implies *moat*. Do we have a moat plan?” Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. “We don’t need a moat plan because there *is no moat*. It’s a *balloon castle*.” “You said it was a balloon *arch*.” “I misspoke.” “You *lie* a lot when you’re nervous.” “I’m not nervous!” Bill’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I’m *strategizing*.” Molly grinned. “You’re sweating like a snowman in July.” “It’s hot in here.” “It’s sixty degrees.” Bill ignored her, jabbing a finger at the blueprint. “The presents are unguarded. The parents are all in the ‘Adult Lounge’—which, by the way, is just a corner with a sad charcuterie board—so they won’t notice a thing. We go in, grab the loot, and bounce before the piñata gets smashed.” Molly plucked the blueprint from his hands and squinted. “What’s this little squiggle by the cake table?” “That’s the *clown*.” She dropped the paper like it had burned her. “You *did not* just say clown.” “It’s a *face painter*,” Bill amended quickly. “But yeah, there’s a clown.” “Clowns are *cursed*, Bill. They see things. They *know* things.” “He’s not even a real clown. He’s some college kid in a bad wig.” “Worse! College kids have *phones*. What if he live-streams us stealing a Barbie Dreamhouse?” Bill groaned. “Then we’ll be *famous*. ‘Local Thieves Nab Toys in Bold Daylight Heist.’ Sounds like a true crime podcast.” Molly drummed her fingers on the table. “Fine. But if that clown so much as *winks* at me, I’m throwing a fit and blaming it on the sugar rush.” “Deal.” Bill pulled a crumpled flyer from his pocket. “Now, the *real* problem is the security.” Molly snatched the flyer. “‘Party monitored by *Party Patrol™*—because fun should be *safe*!’ Oh, come on. *Party Patrol*? That sounds like a guy named Greg in a rent-a-cop uniform.” “It’s worse. It’s *two* guys named Greg in rent-a-cop uniforms.” She groaned. “So we’re dealing with *duplicate Gregs*.” “Yep. And they’ve got one of those little walkie-talkie things. If one sees us, the other *knows*.” Molly leaned back, smirking. “Then we distract them.” “How?” She reached into her jacket and pulled out a whoopee cushion. “With *class*.” Bill stared. “You’re joking.” “Do I look like I’m joking?” “You look like a woman who just pulled a whoopee cushion out of her bra.” “Exactly.” She tossed it to him. “You handle the Gregs. I’ll handle the clown.” Bill caught the cushion, then immediately dropped it like it was alive. “This is the dumbest plan we’ve ever had.” Molly grinned. “No, the dumbest was the time we tried to steal a wedding cake by rolling it out on a dolly. This is *elegant*.” Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. “We got caught *immediately*.” “Details.” She stood up, stretching. “Alright, let’s go rob some kids.” Bill didn’t move. “You realize we’re the worst people, right?” Molly patted his shoulder. “Yeah, but we’re *fun* worst people.” She headed for the door, then paused. “Oh, and Bill?” “Yeah?” “If you see a piñata, *do not* hit it. Last thing we need is a room full of kids *and* a sugar explosion.” Bill sighed, following her out. “Too late. I already brought a bat.”