Molly tapped the ‘blueprints,’ a crayon-scrawled napkin of the Johnson’s backyard. The target zone was a chaotic vortex of scribbles labeled ‘Bouncy Castle’ and ‘Presents.’ Bill, meanwhile, was attempting to fold a party hat into a swan, producing only a mangled cone. “The distraction is everything,” she whispered over the warbling ‘Baby Shark’ remix. “You create the diversion. I grab the loot.” He looked up from his paper failure. “What kind of diversion? I can pull a coin from behind an ear. Kids love that stuff.” “No magic,” Molly snapped, snatching the cone. “You need to be big, loud, and stupidly captivating. Like a clown who’s had too much sugar.” Bill’s eyes lit up with terrifying glee. “I’ll start a massive conga line! Weave it right through the potato sack race!” “Excellent,” she said, pointing a manicured finger. “Funnel them into the kitchen, away from the prize table.” Bill’s face fell. “But the triple-chocolate fudge cake is in the kitchen.” A slow, wicked grin spread across Molly’s face. “Exactly. It’s the perfect bait.”