Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8P57TMQSKTB0Z5ZMGE033

The back fence of 123 Maple Avenue sagged under the weight of a blue balloon that had seen better days—one of its stripes was peeling, the other half stuck to a dandelion. Behind it, Molly and Bill huddled, their faces smudged with charcoal from a nearby campfire (they’d blown it out less than an hour ago, but the smoke still clung to their collars). From inside, a symphony of screaming toddlers and *Baby Shark* blared, punctuated by the occasional shriek of “IT’S MY CAKE, I DECORATED IT!” Bill adjusted his fake mustache, which was starting to slip. “You sure this is smart?” he muttered, nodding at the house. A “HAPPY 5TH BIRTHDAY LUCAS!” banner flapped overhead, its letters torn in half. “What if he wants his presents *now*? What if the dog—” “—is a *stuffed animal*,” Molly finished, snorting. She’d dragged the thing from a goodwill bin two blocks over, padding it with old socks so it looked menacing. “And even if he *did* want them now, we’re here to steal the *keychain* for the loot.” She tapped the small metal object hidden in her pocket—a repurposed toy truck keychain, stolen from a gas station last week. “Last year, this party had a ‘treasure hunt’ where the ‘gold’ was a bag of chocolate coins. Lucas’s mom probably thinks he’s a genius for ‘organizing’ it. The *real* gold’s under the sink in her kitchen, right?” Bill squinted at the window. Through the glass, a toddler with a smudge of pink frosting on their cheek was shoving a plastic sword into a cake decorated with lopsided stars. “But what if the parents are home?” “Darling, you’ve been watching too many movies,” Molly said, popping a chocolate chip from a stolen cookie into her mouth. She’d raided a nearby picnic basket earlier, leaving a note that said *ENOUGH, YOU’RE GIVING THE KIDS DIABETES*. “The dad’s outside arguing with the guy selling balloons. The mom’s over by the bounce house, trying to keep a toddler from riding a plastic unicorn into the rose bushes. They’re too busy to notice we’re here—unless we trip the sprinkler.” She pointed to a small device lying on the ground, connected to a garden hose. “I disabled it. Unless they step on the cinder block I propped under the trigger. Which they won’t. Because cinder blocks are *loud*.” Bill chewed his lip. “What about the presents? They’re in that red wagon by the door, right? With the broken wheel.” Molly nodded, grinning. “And when Lucas’s cousin trips over the wagon, we’ll ‘help’ her up. While we’re at it, we’ll grab the wagon. Then we’ll dump the presents into a garbage bag—*not* the one by the grill, it’s full of hot dogs—and bolt. Simple. Safe. There’s no way they’ll chase us. They’re too busy saying ‘nice job, Lucas’ about a cake that looks like a toddler threw up on it.” Bill hesitated, then nodded, though his mustache was now halfway to his eyebrow. “We should… check the gate. In case we need to make a quick exit.” Molly followed his gaze. The gate, which they’d planned to slip through once the coast was clear, was propped open with a garden gnome. “Perfect,” she said, “because if we need to exit *quickly*, we can just grab the gnome and use it as a distraction. Toddlers love gnomes. Trust me.” She’d tested this theory last week, when a gnome had ‘accidentally’ fallen out of her cart at the grocery store. A small child had spent ten minutes crying over it. Bill sighed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” “Relax, Bill,” Molly said, clapping him on the back. “And if we get caught, I’ll blame the stuffed dog. He *looks* guilty. Probably is.” Just then, a high-pitched voice cut through the noise: “MOMMY, MY CUPCAKE HAS A *BUG*!” Molly and Bill froze. A second later, a door slammed, and the dad’s voice yelled, “IT’S A PIECE OF CANDY, LUCAS—” “C’mon,” Molly said, grabbing Bill’s arm. She pulled him toward the fence, still grinning. “Time to steal some plastic swords and poor life choices.” Bill stumbled after her, adjusting his mustache again. “If we get arrested, I’m blaming the lopsided cake.” “Deal,” Molly said, already climbing over the fence. “But only if you blame the gnome too.” They disappeared into the backyard, where a toddler was still sobbing over a candy bug, and a stuffed dog with a half-eaten cookie in its mouth lay forgotten on the grass.