Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTY5R0PS5QSGNAYAWT6FW6E

The rusted 1998 Honda Civic idled in a suburban cul-de-sac’s shadow, its seats crusted with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto dust and floorboard cluttered with a fake cupcake-adorned lanyard, a thrifted oversized Santa sack, and a tube of neon face paint. Bill hunched over the dashboard, picking at a crumpled granola bar wrapper, his eyes darting between the backyard strung with pink fairy lights and the folding table heaped with wrapped kids’ presents. He’d spent the last ten minutes pointing out every possible way their plan could go wrong, from a rogue bouncy castle collapse to a run-in with the neighborhood’s meanest Chihuahua. Molly, meanwhile, twisted a strand of her neon pink hair between her fingers, already sizing up the party’s fence line entry point through a crack in the windshield. “Calm down, Bill. This is easy.” “Easy? Last week we tried to steal an inflatable flamingo and got chased by a golden retriever wearing a party tiara,” Bill whispered, fumbling with his phone to show her a screenshot of a local parent group meme about the incident. “We’re still the butt of every joke in that group.” “That was sloppy, unprofessional mistakes,” Molly retorted, holding up the pink lanyard emblazoned with a tiny glitter gun. “This is a cover job. We’re posing as last-minute party planners sent to upgrade the gift table display. I printed a fake schedule off a Pinterest post titled ‘Kid Party Hacks’—you’ve got a clipboard full of star stickers to look official.” Bill stared at the star-stickered clipboard, then at the gift table loaded with stuffed unicorns and board games. “What if the real planner shows up? What if a kid recognizes us from the library’s ‘misplaced’ book fiasco? What if we can’t carry all the stuff? There’s a giant teddy bear that’s bigger than both of us. What if the mean Chihuahua shows up again?” “First off, that teddy bear’s going to my foster cousin, so it’s a charitable donation,” Molly said, popping open the face paint tube. “Second, I texted the real planner earlier saying they got stuck in a construction backup. Third, you’ve been doing push-ups at the park last night, don’t lie. Now stop overthinking.” Bill’s face turned pink. “Okay, maybe, but—” A tiny seven-year-old in a frilly unicorn dress trotted up to the van window, her face stained bright blue from a popsicle. She waved, and Bill yelped, ducking so fast he knocked over a half-empty soda can that sloshed orange fizz across the floor mat. Molly shushed him so loud her voice cracked, then forced a bright grin at the girl. “Hi there!” Molly said, dabbing a streak of the girl’s blue paint onto her own cheek. “We’re the party face painters! Want a sparkly unicorn horn on your cheek?” The girl’s eyes lit up. “Wait, are you bringing presents too?” Bill groaned under his breath, slumping his shoulders. “Molly, she’s going to tell everyone we’re not real party planners.” “Relax,” Molly whispered, grabbing the Santa sack from the floor. “By the time they figure it out, we’ll be gone with every present worth stealing. Your job is to stand by the table, stuff the boxes into the sack, and book it straight back here. No detours for cake, no stopping to pet any dogs. Got it?” Bill clutched the clipboard so tight his knuckles whitened. “Got it.” The girl grabbed Molly’s hand, tugging her toward the backyard. “Hurry! All my friends want face paint!” Molly gave Bill a thumbs up over her shoulder, and Bill sighed, hauling himself out of the van and heading toward the gift table, the oversized Santa sack slung over his shoulder.