Dear John by Nicholas Sparks Page A

her arms. “Wow. This is
really
cold. Holy cow!”
    Holy cow?
It wasn’t exactly something my buddies would say. “You’ll get used to it,” I said, smirking.
    “I don’t
like
being cold. I
hate
being cold.”
    “You live in the mountains where it snows.”
    “Yeah, but we have these things called jackets and gloves and hats that we wear to keep warm. And we don’t thrust ourselves into arctic waters first thing in the morning.”
    “Funny,” I said.
    She continued to hop up and down. “Yeah, real funny. I mean, geez!”
    Geez?
I grinned. Her breathing gradually began to even out, but the gooseflesh was still there. She took another tiny step forward.
    “It works best if you just jump right in and go under instead of torturing yourself in stages,” I suggested.
    “You do it your way, I’ll do it mine,” she said, unimpressed with my wisdom. “I can’t believe you wanted to come out now. I was thinking sometime in the afternoon, when the temperature was above freezing.”
    “It’s almost eighty degrees.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” she said, finally acclimating. Uncrossing her arms, she took another series of breaths, then dipped maybe an inch. Steeling herself, she slapped a bit of water on her arms. “Okay, I think I’m getting there.”
    “Don’t rush for me. Really. Take your time.”
    “I will, thank you,” she said, ignoring the teasing tone. “Okay,” she said again, more to herself than me. She took a small step forward, then another. As she moved, her face was a mask of concentration, and I liked the way it looked. So serious, so intense. So ridiculous.
    “Quit laughing at me,” she said, noting my expression.
    “I’m not laughing.”
    “I can see it in your face. You’re laughing on the inside.”
    “All right, I’ll stop.”
    Eventually she waded out to join me, and when the water was up to my shoulders, Savannah climbed on the board. I held it in place, trying again not to stare at her figure, which wasn’t easy, considering it was right in front of me. I forced myself to monitor the swells behind us.
    “Now what?”
    “Do you remember what to do? Paddle hard, grab the board on both sides near the front, then pop up to your feet?”
    “Got it.”
    “It’s kind of tough at first. Don’t be surprised if you fall, but if you do, just roll with it. It usually takes a few times to get it.”
    “Okay,” she said, and I saw a small swell approaching.
    “Get ready . . . ,” I said, timing it. “Okay, start paddling. . . .”
    As the wave hit us, I pushed the board, giving it some momentum, and Savannah caught the wave. I don’t know what I expected, except that it wasn’t to see her pop straight up, keep her balance, and ride the wave all the way back to shore, where it finally petered out. In the shallow water, she jumped off the board as it slowed and turned with dramatic flair toward me.
    “How was that?” she called out.
    Despite the distance between us, I couldn’t look away. Oh man, I suddenly thought, I’m in real trouble.
    “I did gymnastics for years,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a good sense of balance. I suppose I should have said something about that while you were telling me I was going to wipe out.”
    We spent more than an hour in the water. She popped up every time and rode the waves to shore with ease; though she couldn’t steer the board, I had no doubt that if she wanted to, she would be able to master that in no time.
    Afterward, we returned to the house. I waited out back while she went upstairs. While a few people had risen—three girls were on the deck staring at the ocean—most were still recovering from the night before and nowhere to be seen. Savannah emerged a couple of minutes later in shorts and a T-shirt, holding two cups of coffee. She sat beside me on the steps as we faced the water.
    “I didn’t say you’d wipe out,” I clarified. “I just said that if you did, you should roll with it.”
    “Uh-huh,” she said, her