Baby Taylor Protect The Planet
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Taylor’s backpack thumped against her shoulders as she and Jessica trudged into the park, sunscreen-slathered and grinning—until they froze. The campsite looked like a dumpster exploded. Plastic bottles rolled in the breeze, chip bags snagged on thorny bushes, and a sour stench hung over the firepit. “Are you kidding?” Jessica groaned, kicking a crumpled soda can. Taylor slumped onto a log, ready to bail. *“If you see a mess, fix it,”* her mom’s voice nagged in her head. Ugh. Fine. She yanked two spare grocery bags from her pack, tossing one to Jess. “Gloves. Now.” They got to work, gagging at soggy napkins, untangling fishing line from tree roots, and piling recyclables. An hour later, sweat-drenched and triumphant, they high-fived over bulging trash bags. Jessica dragged over a fallen branch to prop up Taylor’s lopsided tent, then strung fairy lights between trees while Taylor scattered wildflowers in mason jars. By sunset, the campsite glowed—twinkling lights, a crackling fire, and the smug satisfaction of saving the day. They roasted marshmallows on sticks they’d whittled themselves, laughing as fireflies blinked approval. Not the day they’d planned, but better. Way better.
