Luna stomps through the tide line and stops. A blue bottle, a red cap, a crumpled bag — everything is plastic, not shells.
She kicks the bag and it crinkles loud in the quiet morning air.
She marches up the path to the village square and claps her hands. Three friends peel off the bench — Tico with green shoes, Maya with a yellow bandana, and little Ravi still half-asleep.
'Our beach is sick,' Luna says, and the wind rattles the palm fronds overhead.
They carry sheets and fill them — Tico lifts a milk jug, Maya grabs straws from the sand, Ravi dumps a whole handful of bottle caps into the pile.
Their shoulders ache and their fingers get sticky, but the sheets grow heavy and heavy.
A soft *thump-thump* makes them turn. A baby sea turtle is tangled in a yellow net near the water, flippers clicking against the ropes.
Luna kneels, pulls the loop loose, and the turtle wiggles free — then slides straight into a puddle with a happy little splash.
Weeks later, Luna stands at the edge of the shore and smiles. White foam kisses the clean sand, gulls wheel overhead, and three paper signs — 'Keep Our Beach!' — catch the breeze.
Three paper signs flutter in the breeze beside her, and the ocean stretches endlessly blue and clean.
Luna's friends gather behind her, tired but proud, their dirty hands resting on their knees as they watch the clean tide roll in.
The beach breathes again — and they know they'll keep it that way.