Luis could see the platform from the bait shop.
On clear mornings, it looked small and far away. At night, its lights sat on the water like a tiny city.
His mother hated it.
“It’s been there too long,” she said as she filled a bucket with ice. “One bad leak can change this whole coast.”
Luis’s dad worked at the dock. His crew fixed boats that carried people and supplies to the platform. The work paid their rent. It paid for Luis’s braces. It paid for the old truck his dad kept saying he would replace someday.
That afternoon, the town hall held a meeting.
The energy company wanted permission to keep the platform working for another ten years. It said the work would protect local jobs and keep money moving through the town.
The beach group wanted the town to fight the plan. They said the coast was too important to risk. Visitors came for the water, the fishing, and the wide strip of sand by the pier.
Luis walked past the meeting room before it started.
His dad stood with the dock workers. They wore clean shirts, but their hands still looked rough from work.
On the other side of the hall, Maya from his science class held a sign that said, **OUR BEACH ISN’T A BACKUP PLAN.**
Luis knew Maya’s family ran a small surf shop. A dirty shoreline could hurt them too.
Inside, the mayor placed a map of the coast on an easel.
A red circle marked the platform.
A blue line showed the fishing area.
A yellow dot marked the public beach where Luis had learned to swim.
“We can send one message to the state,” the mayor said. “We can back the platform. Or we can ask for it to close.”
Luis looked at his father.
Then he looked at Maya.
The clerk passed out comment cards.