Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the sticky diner table, knocking over a salt shaker. The blueprint looked like it had been sketched by a caffeinated squirrel. "The party starts at two," she said, tapping a crayon-colored rectangle. "That gives us exactly one hour before the piñata distraction." Bill squinted at the map and turned it upside down. "Why is there a dragon in the backyard?" "That's the bouncy castle, Bill. Focus." He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms. "I still don't understand why we can't just walk through the front door." "Because Mrs. Henderson checks invitations like a TSA agent with something to prove," Molly hissed. "We go through the side gate, past the garden gnomes, and into the garage where they're staging the gift table." "And the getaway vehicle?" Molly grinned. "Borrowed an ice cream truck. Nobody suspects the ice cream truck." Bill rubbed his temples slowly. "We're stealing presents from eight-year-olds, Molly. This feels like a new low." "It's a new opportunity," she corrected, rolling up the map. "Besides, rich kids get the best stuff. Last year Tommy Parker got a drone." Bill considered this. "I do want a drone." "Everybody wants a drone."