Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY947YW701W2WEG9MEAP462

Molly stirred her lukewarm chocolate milk with a bent straw, the sticky vinyl of the diner booth clinging to her scuffed sneakers as a neon “PIZZA” sign flickered overhead. Bill slammed a crumpled rec center flyer onto the table, a faded unicorn sticker (stolen from a grocery store checkout child) peeling off its edge. He brandished a toy magnifying glass, his fake mustache slipping down his upper lip as he leaned in. “We scouted the back—bounce house’s deflated side blocks the present table from the main room,” Bill said, squinting at the flyer’s blurry map. “But that clown by the snack bar kept staring at me; I thought he’d call the cops on my fake mustache.” Molly rolled her eyes, dabbing a soda stain from her jacket sleeve with a grease-stained napkin. She pointed to the flyer’s circled “PRESENTS” label, noting the table sat between a tall stack of balloon animals and a broken craft table. “Here’s the plan: I’ll plant a fake piñata with a loud popping sound effect by the snack bar,” Molly said. “Crying kids’ll create chaos—parents’ll be too busy to glance back.” Bill fumbled with a tiny toy truck (stolen from a playground the day before), spilling his root beer on the crumpled flyer. Molly dabbed it with a crumpled napkin, noting the party’s 2pm start time coincided with cake cutting—parents would be clustered around the dessert table, phones out for photos. She tapped the shiny present wrap illustration, saying it’d glint less in the back’s dim light. “Security’s just a teen volunteer—16 at most, according to the flyer,” Bill mumbled, picking sugar crystals off the paper. “What if he catches us bagging presents?” Molly reached into her backpack and pulled out a lopsided stuffed terrier, its ear frayed from being squished. She set it on the table, saying she’d march up to the volunteer with a frantic tone, claiming the dog was lost. Bill’s eyes widened, his toy magnifying glass clattering onto the table. “Wait—you’re gonna use a stuffed dog? I thought we needed a real one for the lost pet story,” Bill said, his voice cracking. “What if he asks to see its tags?” Molly tucked the stuffed terrier back, wiping a crumb from her chin. She noted the volunteer’s name on the flyer—Jake—and said she’d make up a fake tag number, distracting him long enough for Bill to stuff all presents into a canvas duffel. The neon sign flickered, casting a pink glow over the soiled flyer as Bill scribbled a messy map on a napkin, his mustache finally falling off onto the table. “I’ll trigger the piñata pop right as the cake’s cut—perfect timing,” Molly said. “You’ll have two minutes to bag presents before anyone notices.” Molly grabbed the flyer, folding it into her pocket as she stood up. Bill scrambled to grab his toy magnifying glass and fallen mustache, spilling the last of his root beer onto the booth. He fumbled with a crumpled napkin to dab it up, knocking over the sugar shaker again—this time, crystals sprinkled onto his lap, making him yelp. She paused at the diner’s door, glancing back to see him trying to stick the mustache back on with soda, a tiny grin tugging at her lips. The party was 2pm tomorrow—shiny presents tied with rainbow ribbons, chaotic kids screaming over wobbly balloon animals, and a heist so silly even they might mess it up before they even reach the glinting present table.