Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD73JNAQ94Q3S98B1JXSV92

Molly spread a crumpled map across the dashboard of their rusty getaway van, tracing a finger along the route to the party venue. Bill adjusted his glasses, squinting at the paper as if it might sprout wings and flee. “Right, so the Reed’s backyard bash is at seven,” Molly said, tapping the map. “Plenty of adults there, but the kids will be holed up in the bounce house for at least an hour. Perfect distraction.” Bill snorted. “Molly, last time you said ‘perfect distraction’ and we ended up trapped in a kiddie pool full of suds and regret.” “That was *one* time,” she huffed, smoothing the map. “This time, I’ve got a plan. We’ll pose as party staff. I’ll wear this—” She brandished a neon pink wig from a paper bag. “—and you can be the ‘safety coordinator.’” “Because nothing says ‘safety’ like a guy in a polka-dot bow tie,” Bill muttered, eyeing the wig like it might attack him. “What if the parents figure it out?” “They won’t,” Molly said, pacing. “Kids are easily distracted. I once convinced a five-year-old I was a unicorn. He still sends me birthday cards.” Bill opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. They’d heard the story before. “Plus,” Molly added, stopping mid-step, “the presents are all in the garage. I checked. There’s a whole mountain of them—board games, stuffed animals, even a hoverboard. We’ll make a fortune.” “A fortune in plastic junk,” Bill grumbled. “But fine. What’s our exit strategy?” Molly grinned. “We’ll ride the party bus. I saw it parked outside. If things go south, we’ll just—” “Drive off in a vehicle full of screaming toddlers?” “Exactly.” Bill groaned and leaned back in his seat. “What if the parents chase us?” “Then we’ll have to improvise. Maybe a dramatic leap over a sprinkler system or something.” “You’re not a movie character, Molly.” “No, but I *am* about to commit felony joyriding. Let’s just say I’ve read the script.” She tossed him a clipboard labeled *TOP SECRET: MINOR MISHAP PROTOCOLS*. Bill flipped through it skeptically. The pages were filled with doodles of stick figures in peril. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “It’s *effective*,” Molly replied, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now, let’s review. You’ll direct the ‘safety’ of the bounce house. I’ll ‘accidentally’ knock over a piñata, then sweep in with the loot while everyone’s distracted. We’ll meet back here at eight, loaded up, and you’ll owe me a pizza.” “A pizza I can’t afford after this?” “Especially that pizza.” Bill sighed, slinging the wig into his jacket. “What if the kids don’t fall for the piñata distraction?” Molly raised an eyebrow. “What if *you* don’t fall for the fact that we’re stealing presents from a *birthday party*?” “Touché.” They climbed out of the van, Bill adjusting his bow tie with visible reluctance. The party buzzed with laughter and the smell of cotton candy as Molly led the way, wig askew and grinning. “Remember,” she called over her shoulder, “if we get caught, it’s all on you.” “And if we don’t?” “Then we’re rich.”