As president of the Helping Hands organization at my university, I organized the annual charity ball. I greeted everyone with a smile and kind words, told each donor how the money would be used to put a holiday dinner on the table for families in need, and spent the rest of the time hanging out with kids from those families.

But now, as the clock struck midnight, it was time for me to make my exit.

"Thanks for taking over," I whispered to my friend Ming, who was used to my earlyish departures. "I'll be back first thing in the morning for the cleanup so don't worry about that, OK?"

"Kathleen, are you sure? You've already worked so hard—"

"It's totally normal. It's my responsibility, and I love it." I meant every word. I beamed at Ming and squeezed her hands, for that moment forgetting what lay ahead.

"Go on home, get some rest," she said, but I was already halfway out the door, waving and blowing kisses.

Outside, I swapped my pink satin heels for black sneakers, then signaled to the car waiting at the corner.

"Where's the place?" I whispered.

"Upper East Side, right across from Central Park." He slipped me the exact address and my bag as I changed in the backseat.

"This is our biggest yet, Kath. You sure you want to go it alone?"

"It's time. You know I can do it." My words boasted confidence, but my heart leaped a little as he left me off and I started to scale the side of the building. He'd prepared the terrain. The window was ajar, and the alarm was disarmed.

And then I was in, and the painting was within reach. One of the biggest private collections in Manhattan, but tonight, my focus was on the Degas gleaming in the moonlight. If we didn't get it now, it was off to an exhibit in Paris. Who knew what could happen to it after that?

In the silent dimness that represented safety, I slipped the painting into my bag. There were plenty worth my attention, but getting greedy had led other art... ahem... connoisseurs... to jail. And jail would get in the way of my classes and eventual graduation with an art history degree.

"How did you do?" Dad asked as he picked me up a few blocks away.

"Fine. And remember, you promised I could keep this one."

He nodded, and I sank back into my seat with a dreamy smile.

Next day at the post-fundraiser cleanup, everyone talked about the heist – it was all over the news -- while I carefully placed recyclables into the proper bins.

"Instead of playing detective, you should all be more like Kathleen," Ming said, interrupting them. "She's cleaning up, doing something worthwhile. Learn from her, guys."

My friends got the message, worked harder than ever, and forced me to leave early... giving me the whole afternoon to admire my Degas.