Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTYGMCMANSK0NZ27R1AEQXN

The beat-up white van idled 20 feet from the Jenkinses’ split-level, where pink and blue balloon arches poked over the picket fence and the high-pitched shriek of a piñata-induced riot drifted through the open kitchen windows. Inside the van’s passenger seat, a crumpled map marked the location of the fireplace stack of presents with bright red Xs, alongside a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs and a lost party favor mustache. Molly leaned against the hood, twirling a silver party blower between her fingers, while Bill hunched over the open door, prodding a tupperware of stale donuts with a plastic fork like it was a rival heist target. “C’mon, Bill,” Molly said, flicking a crumb off his flannel shirt collar. “We’ve been planning this for three weeks. You seriously think a pack of sugar-crazed first graders is gonna stop us from grabbing a few wrapped presents?” Bill’s fork clattered to the van’s sticky floor mat. “What if the parents catch us? Last time we tried a library book heist, a four-year-old tattled to a librarian who could bench-press a lawnmower. She chased us all the way to the downtown bus stop!” Molly snorted, reaching under the hood to pull out a cheap plastic party crown covered in fake gold stars. “Please. I swiped this from the dollar bin at the grocery store last night. If anyone asks, we’re here to do a magic show for the birthday girl. Or at least, I am. You can be my assistant who carries the ‘magic gift bags.’” Bill stared at the crown, then at the flimsy paper tote bags tucked into the van’s cup holders. “Magic gift bags? That’s not even a real thing.” “Neither is a heist where we steal birthday presents from kids,” Molly said, slipping the crown on her head and adjusting it at a lopsided angle. “But it’s better than saying we’re here to loot all the wrapped stuff. For the record, I took a photo through the kitchen window at 3 p.m.—the presents are stacked right by the fireplace, and no one’s paid attention to that corner for more than 10 minutes at a time since the piñata broke.” Bill’s eyes went wide. “You took a photo? You didn’t tell me that! What if the mom posted that on her neighborhood Facebook group? She’ll recognize our van!” “Relax,” Molly said, tapping the van’s bumper where a handwritten “JENKINS PARTY HEIST” was scrawled in washable purple marker. “I covered the license plate with a sheet of iridescent balloon stickers I grabbed from the party supply store. They’re super sticky, won’t peel off till we peel ’em. Also, I picked up a batch of glow stick necklaces—we can hand ’em out to the kids on our way out. No one’ll suspect a thing.” A sudden high-pitched yell made Bill jump so hard he knocked over the tupperware of donuts, sending crumbs rolling across the driveway. “That’s a kid! They’re right by the van!” “Calm down,” Molly said, prodding him in the shoulder. “It’s just the birthday boy. He’s pointing at our balloon stickers. Oh, good—he thinks we’re part of the entertainment. Let’s go. Before the knight-costume dad shows up again.” Bill grabbed the tote bags, his hands shaking so bad the handles creaked, and followed Molly toward the fence. “Wait, what if the piñata spills more confetti in my hair? Everyone’ll think I’m a kid!” Molly waved him off, already stepping over the neatly trimmed lawn. “Then you’ll blend in with the toddlers. Now shut up and let’s grab those presents before the cake gets cut—last one to the fireplace buys the post-heist milkshakes.”