The air in the stolen van tasted of stale coffee and desperation. Molly spread the blueprints of the ‘McFunster’s Birthday Bonanza’ across a grease-stained crate. Her finger, adorned with a cheap plastic ring, traced a path from the bouncy castle to the gift-giving station. Bill, meanwhile, was practicing his ‘concerned parent’ face in a smeared side mirror, a look that mostly resembled indigestion. She tapped a point on the diagram, her voice a low, serious hiss. “We hit the presents during the piñata chaos.” He didn’t look away from the mirror. “I call dibs on the one with the biggest bow.” Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. His eyes weren’t on the pile of wrapped gifts; they were fixed on the three-tiered, buttercream-frosted monstrosity being wheeled out by a teenager in a fuzzy mouse costume.