Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the sticky diner table, her eyes gleaming with the intensity of someone who had clearly lost all perspective on life. The blueprint had been obtained from a six-year-old informant in exchange for two juice boxes and a promise to never tell anyone about the incident with the classroom hamster. Bill squinted at the colorful scribbles, turning the paper sideways, then upside down. "The presents are here, in what little Timmy calls the fun zone," Molly whispered. "That's a drawing of a dinosaur eating a house." "It's abstract. Work with me." The plan was elegantly simple in the way that only truly terrible plans can be. They would infiltrate during the chaos of musical chairs, when the sugar-fueled children reached peak distraction levels. Bill would handle the parents by engaging them in devastatingly boring conversation about lawn care. Molly would slip into the gift pile wearing her disguise as a very tall child with a fake mustache, which she inexplicably refused to remove despite Bill's protests. "We strike at cake time." "Why are we doing this again?" Molly's eye twitched slightly as she folded the map with trembling fingers. Some questions were better left unasked.