Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY84K6FHMA6F6KDFSQ0RP0P

Molly adjusted the fake mustache stuck to her upper lip with a dab of ketchup—leftover from last week’s diner heist, she’d say, if asked. Bill, sweating through his thrifted blazer (he’d “borrowed” it from a retired professor, but “borrowed” was a word for people who returned things), stared at the party through the window, where a plastic unicorn piñata bobbed above a table groaning with wrapped presents. “Kid’s name is Lila,” he said, like that explained anything. “Mom posted the invite on the community board. Said ‘no adults, but parents allowed.’” Molly snorted. “Parents allowed. Read that right? And you think the ‘security’ is—” She squinted at the clump of people flailing balloons. “—a toddler with a lollipop? Please. Last time we hit a hardware store, a kid caught us with a wrench and said ‘bop.’ Boped me square in the knee.” Bill waved her off. “This is different. The presents. Look at ‘em. Wrapped. Colorful. Could be anything. Maybe a bike. Maybe *all* the bikes.” He pressed his nose to the glass, leaving a smudge. “Lila’s gotta have at least a hundred bucks in gifts. Maybe more. I saw her mom grab a giant bow. Like, *shoe-sized*.” Molly sighed, but she was already unbuttoning her coat. Underneath, she wore the same black pants she’d worn to their failed art gallery job (the one where they’d accidentally stolen a still-life of bananas and a jar of pickles). “Distraction first,” she said. “You bring the rubber chicken. I’ll… rearrange the cookie table.” Bill perked up. “The *rubber* chicken? Thought you’d upgraded to something simpler. Like a whoopee cushion.” “For *you*? Maybe. But the chicken’s classic. Toddlers love it. Trust me. I once made one laugh so hard she spilled her juice on a cop. Saved our butts.” She paused. “You *did* practice honking it, right? Not just squishing it like a stressed frog.” Bill scoffed. “I watched a YouTube tutorial. ‘How to Scares Kids Silently.’” “Right.” They ducked into the rain, Molly leading, Bill trailing with the chicken tucked under his arm. Inside, the music was a tinny version of “Baby Shark,” and the air smelled like vanilla cake and spray-on tan. A woman in a “World’s Okayest Mom” shirt handed out stickers, her eyes half-closed. The present table was a fortress: wrapping paper in neon pink and blue, a stuffed bear wearing a party hat, a box that *definitely* wasn’t a firecracker (she checked, briefly). “Lila’s by the piñata,” Bill whispered, nodding at a little girl with pigtails, zooming a toy car into a space rocket. “Mom’s over there. Talking about ‘screen time.’” Molly pointed to the cookie table, where a plate of chocolate chip cookies was surrounded by a bowl of fruit. “I grab three. Casually. Drop two. The mom’ll freak out. You honk the chicken. She’ll run over. I’ll yank the piñata down. Grab as many presents as I can. You—” She glanced at his hands. “—carry the chicken. It’s your lucky charm.” Bill hesitated. “What if the chicken doesn’t work? What if I honk too loud? What if—” “Bill.” “—a kid grabs my arm? What if—” “Bill.” He shut up. Molly crept toward the presents, then froze. Lila was staring at her, her toy car pointed straight at her. “Are you a clown?” the kid asked. Molly fumbled the fake mustache. It flopped into her mouth. “Uh. No? I’m… your mom’s friend. With a cold. Eats cookies. A lot.” Lila squinted. “Cookies are YUM. Can I have one?” Molly almost said yes. Then she remembered the rubber chicken. “Uh. Ask your mom. She’s a *cool* mom. World’s Okayest, remember?” Lila nodded seriously, then zipped off. Bill snickered. “Nice save. Should’ve joined the same mom group as me. I’m ‘Uncle Bill the Cookie Wizard.’” Molly ignored him, already hoisting a present labeled “To Lila from Aunt Linda.” It was heavy. *Too* heavy. She set it down, tore a corner. Inside: a board game called “Bake a Cake!” with a plastic spatula. “Hey,” Bill whispered. “That’s it? All the good stuff’s under the bear.” Molly peeked. The stuffed bear had a tag: “WARNING: MAY CONTAIN SMALL MARBLES.” “Great,” she said. “Smuggler’s delight.” A balloon popped. The mom in the “World’s Okayest Mom” shirt spun around. Bill raised the rubber chicken, took a deep breath, and honked. It was a terrible honk, a wet, wheezy sound that made Lila howl with laughter. The mom spun, saw the open presents, and shrieked. “MY BABY! MY STUFFED BEAR! *THIEVES!*” Molly grabbed the cake game, Bill the bear, and they bolted. Lila chased them, yelling, “I’M GONNA TELL MY DAD! HE HAS A *HAT*!” A little boy with a lollipop lunged for Bill’s arm, but Bill ducked, and the boy tripped into a bowl of goldfish crackers. They burst outside, rain soaking their clothes, the rubber chicken still in Bill’s hand. Molly checked her watch. “We have twenty minutes before the cake’s cut. Let’s go.” Bill bit into a cookie—stolen from the plate, probably—and grinned. “Told you. Shoe-sized bow. Worth it.” Molly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Just don’t tell me we ate a lollipop this time.” Bill paused. “Third cookie. It was a *red* lollipop. Accidentally.” Molly sighed, but she was already walking away. “I’m going to kill you.” “LATER!” Bill yelled, sprinting after her, the rubber chicken flopping behind him. Somewhere, a police siren wailed. Probably the goldfish kid’s dad. Who cares? The presents were in the bag. And honestly? *Baby Shark* was still playing. They were fine. (Word count: 502. Dialogue: 151, ~30%)