Molly crouched behind a bush, binoculars pressed to her face. “You realize we’re robbing a room full of five-year-olds, right?” Bill adjusted his ski mask. “Precisely. Who suspects the guy in the clown shoes?” “The clown. Everyone suspects the clown.” “They’ll be too busy with the piñata. We strike during the cake.” “You brought the getaway stroller?” “Naturally. Reinforced wheels, cup holder for my smoothie.” “What if a kid sees us?” “Then we offer to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ really loud and run.” “You’re terrible at this.” “You’re the one who insisted on a getaway petting zoo.” “It was thematic! And alpacas are fast under pressure.” “We’re stealing gift bags, not funding a cult.” “A themed cult.” “Still not worth it.” “Fine. But if I get arrested, I’m blaming it on your terrible balloon animal skills.” “They’re abstract.” “They’re terrifying. That poodle looks like a depressed accordion.” “They’re modern art.” “Just grab the loot. And don’t eat the cupcakes. Last time you got sugar-crazed and tried to fight a bounce house.” “It was inflatable and clearly judging me.” “It’s rubber, Bill.” “And yet, so full of opinions.”