Mikey sat frozen on the wooden chair, the cold brass of the telescope pressing uncomfortably into his shoulder. Across the room, his friend Leo—still sitting in front of the glow of three high-end monitors—was wildly waving his hands, making slashing motions across his throat. Cut the cord, abort the mission, Leo’s frantic mime seemed to say.

“Just checking in?” Mikey squeaked, his voice cracking slightly before he cleared his throat to lower the pitch. “Yeah, everything is totally fine here, Mom. Just… you know, studying for AP Physics.”

Through the phone speaker, Mikey could hear the faint, crisp sound of a crackling fireplace and the clinking of porcelain mugs. His mother was currently miles away in Aspen, enjoying a luxury ski weekend, yet her maternal radar had somehow managed to ping all the way back to their suburban basement.

“Physics, huh?” his mom’s voice echoed smoothly over the line. “That’s funny, considering you dropped AP Physics three weeks ago because you said, and I quote, ‘gravity is just a suggestion to those who dream.’“

Leo slapped his forehead in the background, swiveling his chair around so he wouldn’t have to watch Mikey dig his own grave.

“I meant… theoretical physics. On my own time,” Mikey stammered, his eyes darting back to the whiteboard. The red marker practically glowed: Spider Mikey. Get the goods! Below it were printed photos of the target: Chad Sterling’s ultra-modern glass mansion on the hill, and the silver YouTube Play Button that Chad had “borrowed” from them last month for a collaboration and conveniently refused to return.

“Well, that’s incredibly academic of you, Michael,” his mom said. The use of his full name made the hairs on his arms stand up. “I’m just calling because the security app on my phone notified me that the garage door has opened and closed six times in the last hour. Are you boys doing something I should know about?”

Mikey’s heart hammered against his ribs. The garage door. They had been testing the tension cables for the homemade grappling hook—the core component of the newly minted Plan B.

“Oh, that!” Mikey forced a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “Leo is just… doing a social experiment on the mechanical endurance of automated suburban infrastructure. For his vlog.”

Leo stopped swiveling, glaring daggers at Mikey for throwing him under the bus.

“I see,” his mom replied, her tone dripping with polite skepticism. “Well, tell Leo that if the motor burns out, his vlog revenue is paying for the repair. I’m heading out to the slopes now. Don’t do anything stupid, Mikey. And stay out of the garage.”

“Have fun skiing, Mom! Love you!” Mikey blurted out, frantically tapping the red end-call button. He tossed the phone onto the desk and exhaled a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a year.

“Mechanical endurance?” Leo deadpanned, crossing his arms. “Really? That was the best the great mastermind could come up with?”

“Hey, it worked! She bought it!” Mikey defended himself, jumping up from the chair and pacing back to the whiteboard. “Look, we don’t have time to argue. She checked the cameras, which means she’s suspicious. If she decides to check the living room feed next, she’s going to see we aren’t here. We have exactly a two-hour window before she gets off the slopes and checks her phone again. It’s time to initiate Spider Mikey.”

Leo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Plan A was logical. Plan A was we walk up to Chad’s front door, knock, and politely demand our Play Button back because we earned those hundred thousand subscribers together.”

“And Plan A resulted in Chad’s older brother threatening to put me in a headlock,” Mikey countered, tapping the board again. “So, Plan B. Chad is at hockey practice until 6:00 PM. His parents are at a gallery opening. The house is empty.”

Mikey walked over to a large duffel bag resting on the floor and unzipped it with a dramatic flourish. Inside lay a mess of tactical gear: black climbing ropes, industrial-strength suction cups bought from a glazier’s supply store, dark hoodies, and a pair of night-vision goggles that were definitely just cheap plastic toys from a Halloween store.

“Put the hoodie on, Leo. You’re my guy in the chair.”

“I’m already in a chair,” Leo pointed out, though he reluctantly grabbed the black hoodie Mikey threw at him. “And what exactly are you going to do with glass suction cups? You realize Chad’s house is built on a cliff, right? One slip and you’re not Spider Mikey, you’re a pancake.”

“Fear is the mind-killer, Leo,” Mikey said confidently, strapping a utility belt around his waist. He grabbed the suction cups, sticking one to the whiteboard to test it. It held firm. “Chad keeps his streaming room on the second floor. The entire back wall is floor-to-ceiling glass. I scale the back deck, use the suction cups to pop the sliding door off its track, grab the Play Button, and I’m out before he even finishes lacing up his skates.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were crouched in the bushes at the edge of the Sterling estate. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, menacing shadows over the sprawling modern architecture. The house looked like a glass fortress.

“Radio check,” Mikey whispered, adjusting the earpiece hidden beneath his curly hair.

“I hear you loud and clear, unfortunately,” Leo’s voice buzzed back. Leo had parked Mikey’s beat-up Honda Civic three blocks away, setting up a mobile command center in the passenger seat with his laptop tethered to his phone’s hotspot. “I’m looking at the blueprints of the house I pulled from public city records. You need to head around the left side. Beware of motion-sensor floodlights.”

Mikey crept through the manicured landscaping, his heart pounding in his ears. This was it. The ultimate heist. He reached the back patio. Rising above him was the second-story balcony, bordered by thick glass panels.

“Okay, I’m at the wall,” Mikey whispered. He pulled the heavy-duty suction cups from his belt. “Going up.”

He reached up, pressed the first cup against the smooth exterior glass, and flipped the latch. Thwack. It locked on securely. He pulled his weight up. It held. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. I am actually doing this, he thought. I am a ninja.

He placed the second cup. Thwack. He hoisted himself higher, his feet finding minimal purchase on the sleek window frames. Slowly, agonizingly, “Spider Mikey” ascended the wall. His muscles burned, but the thought of his prized silver plaque sitting on Chad’s arrogant desk fueled him.

“You’re doing great,” Leo whispered in his ear. “Just five more feet.”

Suddenly, Mikey’s phone vibrated violently against his hip. It was so loud in the quiet twilight that it sounded like a jackhammer. He froze, clinging to the glass like a terrified frog.

“Leo, my phone!” Mikey hissed through his teeth. “Who is calling me?!”

“Hold on, let me check the network,” Leo replied, typing furiously. “Oh, no. Mikey… it’s your mom on FaceTime.”

“What?! Decline it! Decline it from your end!”

“I can’t! We aren’t linked like that! If you don’t answer, she’s going to check the house cameras and see you aren’t home!”

Mikey hung suspended ten feet in the air, hanging by literal suction cups. His arms were shaking. If he let go with one hand to answer the phone, he might fall. If he didn’t answer, his mom would call the police to report him missing.

“I have to answer it,” Mikey groaned.

Carefully, shifting all his weight to his left arm and right foot, he let go of the right suction cup. He fumbled in his pocket, blindly swiped the screen, and brought the phone to eye level, angling it so only the dark sky was behind his face.

“Hey Mom!” Mikey gasped, trying to smile naturally despite his face turning purple from exertion.

“Hi honey,” his mom smiled through the screen. She was sitting by a fire pit now. “You look out of breath. And it’s awfully dark in that basement.”

“Yeah! Just… doing some intense push-ups! Fitness is important!”

“Well, I just wanted to say goodnight. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom! Gotta go, planking!” Mikey hung up, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and grabbed the suction cup again just as his left arm was about to give out.

With one final, desperate heave, Mikey swung his leg over the balcony railing and tumbled onto the deck. He lay there for a second, catching his breath. He had made it.

He crawled to the sliding glass door. To his absolute disbelief, it was unlocked. Chad was so arrogant he didn’t even lock his balcony. Mikey slid the door open, slipped into the dark room, and there it was. Illuminated by the standby light of a PC monitor, the silver YouTube Play Button sat on a velvet cushion.

Mikey grabbed it, shoved it into his backpack, and grinned. Spider Mikey was a total success.

“Leo,” Mikey whispered into the comms. “I got the goods. Let’s go home.”

As he repelled back down the wall (much faster than going up), Mikey realized two things. First, he was never going to attempt a heist again. And second, he needed to permanently disable the garage door app on his mom’s phone before she returned from Aspen.