Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8781EFVH856ZRWTM2F5K2

Molly leaned against a gnarled oak, squinting at the field beyond. The sky was a soft peach, streaked with clouds that looked like someone had dragged a cotton swab through pink paint. A distant chorus of “I’m Batman!” and a high-pitched shriek cut through the air. “Two-niner,” she said, nodding at the two-story house with a fence that looked like it had seen better days. “The party’s on the east lawn. Present table’s under the oak with the tattered flag. Balloons blocking the west window—perfect for a distraction.” Bill shifted his weight, his cargo pants sagging at the knees. He held a crumpled blueprint in one hand and a lollipop in the other, which he’d been licking so hard the wrapper was now a wet mess. “You sure we should hit a kid’s party? Last time we did the bookstore, old Maureen caught us with the romance novels and now she texts the police if we breathe near a register.” Molly pushed off the tree, her black leather jacket creaking like a rusty gate. “This is *different*. Kids don’t carry wallets. But present bags? Loot. Stuffed unicorns, glow sticks, maybe a nice tablet. Mrs. Higgins from the laundromat would sell those for a week’s worth of dryers. And the cake—” she sniffed the air “—is vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. I’ve seen better heists. Less risk of… *state troopers*.” Bill’s lollipop wobbled. “But what if Tommy from third grade is there? He drew me a picture once. With stick figures and my name spelled wrong. I kept it under my mattress for three years.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Tommy’s six. He’ll be too busy trying to pop a balloon with his fork to notice you’re wearing a spider mask. Also, you’re wearing a spider mask. It’s *loud*. Even spiders hide in corners.” Bill tugged at the mask—black, with googly eyes and fuzzy legs. It had slipped down his nose, and a chunk of glitter was stuck to his cheek. He swiped at it; the glitter smudged, turning his face into a map of the night sky. “You said ‘distraction.’ What’s the distraction?” “Easy. I’ll ‘accidentally’ trip the piñata. It’s filled with lollipops, remember? Kids lose their minds over candy. You slip in, grab the presents, and meet me by the dumpster in ten minutes. If the cops show? You tell ’em you’re a clown. They’ll laugh you out. Clowns are legally required to be nice.” Bill bit into the lollipop, making a loud *crunch*. “What if the presents are *forgotten* presents? Like, the kid who didn’t come? Maureen said stealing from forgotten presents is like stealing from ghosts. They come back.” Molly reached into her bag and tossed him a pair of latex gloves. “Ghosts don’t punch. Now, listen—” she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper “—the presents have tags with names. You grab the ones that say ‘Liam’ or ‘Zara.’ Girls love sparkly stuff, right? Mom’s gonna sell ’em to a boutique. Dad’s gonna sell the toys to a guy on eBay who thinks he’s getting ‘rare collector’s items.’ Either way, we eat.” Bill stood up straighter, the blueprint fluttering in his hand. “What about the cake?” “Cake’s for after. We’ll grab a slice, maybe a cupcake for the road. Then we dump the masks in the sewer—” “Wait—” Bill held up a gloved hand “—last week, you said we should ‘reuse resources.’ Like, the mask could be a scarf.” Molly stared at him. “The mask looks like a spider that did drugs. Do you want to be called ‘Spider McSparkles’ for the rest of your life?” Bill nodded seriously. “Yes. It’s a *cool* name.” Molly sighed, but she was smiling. She pulled a roll of tape from her pocket and knelt to fix his mask. “Fine. But if Tommy asks you for your autograph, you sign it ‘Clown Spider.’” Bill grinned, showing a big front tooth. He stuffed the lollipop wrapper into his pocket. “Deal. Oh—” he pointed “—you’re gonna tripping the piñata? What if you hit it too hard and it flies into the cake?” Molly stood, dusting off her knees. She checked her watch—6:17. The party would kick off in five. “Then we steal the piñata too. It’s a *Gilmore Girls* collectible. Rhonda at Antiques R Us pays top dollar for kitsch.” Bill tucked the blueprint under his arm, his spider mask now sitting crookedly. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Okay. Let’s do this. But you *owe* me a cupcake. With extra sprinkles. For the trauma.” Molly winked. “I’ll owe you a *whole box*. Now go. You’re a *professional*.” She walked toward the house, flipping her hair. Behind her, Bill adjusted his mask, then tiptoed toward the lawn, tripping over a garden hose. He landed in a bush, but popped back up, grinning. The piñata loomed, a lopsided thing shaped like a bear. Molly raised her hand, then ducked behind a tree as Bill yelped and the bear piñata creaked. The first shrieks of “IT’S STARTING!” echoed from the yard. She smiled. Time to make the sparkly stuff hers.