Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB5F00RSA4MZEJDSNRH927

The backyard hummed with the high, thin whine of party horns and a toddler’s off-key version of “Twinkle Twinkle.” Molly knelt, spreading a notepad over a cooler of lemonade, while Bill leaned against a patio chair, eyeing the inflatable dinosaur in the corner like it might bite. “Easy for you to say,” he said, adjusting the cap on his head—too big, slouching over one eye. “We’re stealing from a five-year-old. What if her mom’s a retired cop? What if she’s *wearing* a cop uniform? What if the kid *knows* we’re thieves?” Molly laughed, scrawling a basket labeled “GOOD STUFF” on her notepad. “Mrs. Higgins runs the PTA. She still uses a flip phone. The ‘security system’ is that T. rex. It deflates if you *breathe* on it. The real danger’s the sangria—those moms will elbow you for a refill, and you’ll drop a present. *Now* that’s a headline: ‘Thief Tripped by Sangria, Exposes Self.’” Bill shifted, boot crunching a plastic cup. “Gloves. Did you think about gloves? What if we leave prints? What if a kid *squeals* about our hands?” “Plastic ones from the dollar store,” she said, flicking a pen at him. “Won’t leave prints. Unless you touch the lemonade. *Don’t* touch the lemonade.” He huffed, but his shoulders relaxed. “Prize anyway? The science kit? Or the unicorn? The kid’s got a *treasure chest* of plastic.” Molly paused, squinting at the table by the pool. A red basket with a gold tag glinted under a frayed cloth. “Unicorn’s mine. Science kit’s into the van. Slime’s a bonus—moms buy anything that says ‘non-toxic.’” Bill trod on a streamer, sliding halfway into a pile of paper plates. “Why’s there a caution tape around the cake?” he said, like it was a life sentence. “Prevents kids from grabbing it with sticky hands,” she said, propping her chin on her hand. “Smart. Also, makes it look like we’re respecting property. *Criminal mastermind* stuff.” He stood, smoothing his shirt—one button missing, thanks to his panic. “What if the bouncer comes? The guy by the fence?” Molly followed his gaze. The “bouncer” was a dad with a beer, arguing with a piñata that had a lopsided crown. “He’s just here for the tacos. Trust me. Now—” She nodded at the red basket. “We check the presents. Too many, but the tag’s gold. That’s the unicorn. I saw it from the fence. Now, let’s move.” Bill grabbed her arm, yanking gently. “You know, if we get caught, I’m blaming you.” Molly grinned, already inching toward the table. “Good. I’ll tell the cops you *suggested* the unicorn. They’ll go easy on you.” He sighed, but there was a smile in it. “I hate you.” “Love you too, dork,” she said, yanking the cloth off the red basket. Stuffed unicorn jiggled out, its horn a little bent. She tucked it under her arm. “C’mon. Time to steal some presents.” Bill followed, pausing to nod at the piñata. “You sure the T. rex deflates on command? I don’t wanna get stuck under it.” Molly winked. “I programmed it. Last Tuesday. It’s a *精密机器*.” “精密 what?” “*It’s a fancy machine*, dork. Let’s go.” They ducked behind the cooler as the party horn blared, drowning out the distant yelp of Timmy, the birthday boy, discovering the piñata was now slightly deflated. Molly slipped the unicorn into a duffel bag. Bill grabbed the science kit, one hand over the slime jar. “C’mon,” she said, backing away. “We’ve got 11 minutes before the cake. Mom will *lose it* if the candles burn out.” Bill stumbled, tripping over a balloon. “Eleven minutes? What about—” “Later!” she said, grinning. “Now run!” They bolted, laughing, past the T. rex, past the dads, past the kids who’d stopped chasing the dinosaur to stare. The sprinklers turned on, drenching the grass, but neither care. By the time the party realized the presents were gone, Molly was tucking the unicorn under her arm, Bill was slinging the duffel over his shoulder, and they were already halfway down the street, snickering into stolen party favor bags. The T. rex deflated slowly, alone in the yard, like a silent accusation. But who cared? It was 11 minutes early, and the unicorn’s horn was still kind of awesome. (Word count: 500)