I NEED HELP I NEED THIS DONE IN 20 MINS!! PLZ HELP The High Dive

It's six-thirty in the morning, day 14 of summer vacation. The sun is reflecting off the water, and I am wide-awake after just plunging headfirst into the ice-cold pool. In a few hours the concrete on the deck will be hot, and this place will be crawling with kids. For right now, it's just me, the stinging smell of chlorine, and my little sister, Sammy.

She's four years old and shivering on the steps of the pool in her new pink swimsuit and water wings. It's day 14, but it's still like pulling teeth to get Sammy all the way into the water. Everyone knows it's best just to jump in all at once. Sammy likes to do it a little at a time. First, she puts her toes in and sits for a few minutes and the goose bumps come up on her arms and legs. Then she puts her feet in up to her ankles. About ten minutes later, she's in up to her water wings.

For the last two weeks, Sammy and I have been coming to the pool early. She's determined to learn to swim and she doesn't want to do it in front of the kids. Each day, once she finally gets into the water, I teach her the basics. We go through scissor kicks and Superman glides. There's just one problem, she still won't put her face in the water or jump from the side of the pool. As for the deep end, forget it. I've tried to be patient, but each day I get a bit more frustrated with Sammy's stubbornness. She tells me every morning, "Soon, Leah. When I'm ready." It sounds more like "Soon, Weah, when I'm weady."

This morning, I swim over to the side of the pool and start swimming the first of the ten laps that I do while Sammy's getting used to the water. Each time I get to the other side of the pool, I look back at Sammy to see how far she is into the water. On the third or fourth lap, I look over to the steps. I suck in a mouthful of water. Underneath my goggles, I can feel tears stinging my eyes. Sammy is gone.

I look quickly around the pool, surveying under the benches. I'm positive she's not in the water. I grab onto the deck and pull myself out of the pool, thinking that maybe she's in the restroom or the changing room. My heart is racing from the laps, but mostly from panic.

A plane flies overhead and I look up. Then, I see her. She's climbed the rusty steps to the top of the high-dive. The high-dive? She practically leaves toe prints in the pool deck if I ask her to jump in, and she's on the high-dive? I was ten before I braved the high-dive. My knees buckled with every step and I could have sworn the air was thinner. The people in the pool looked like dots in the water. I couldn't believe that Sammy was up there.

"Sammy," I cry. "What are you doing?!"

I'm halfway up the steps of the diving board ladder when I hear the splash. "I can't believe she actually jumped," I say. I backtrack down the steps and I'm into the water in a flash. Sammy's there floating on her stomach with her head up. She's scissor-kicking just like I taught her. I swim over to her and grab her.

"Hey! Quit it," she says. "I'm swimmin'."

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yes. Okay. I'm swimmin'. See me?" She kicks her feet and turns toward the side of the pool.

"How come you did that, silly girl? You scared me half to death."

"Sorry," she says. She's paddling her little legs and feet feverishly.

"It's okay," I tell her. "You were very brave."

"Like a lion?" She asks.

"Yes, just like a lion," I say. Even though I don't know any lions anywhere near brave enough to climb up twelve feet of rusty steps and plunge into ice cold-water.

"I was ready," she says. "Ready to be a swimmer."

"Yes," I say. "Yes, you were." I look at my little sister with her wet braids, still shivering, but swimming, actually swimming, and I smile.

Before today if someone had asked me what I thought I could learn from my four-year-old sister, I probably would have laughed. Now, though, I can say I've learned two things, two big things. First, I learned the true meaning of bravery. If being three feet tall and climbing up a twelve-foot ladder to jump into water that you've never even put your head under isn't brave, I don't know what is. Second, I learned that no matter how hard you push, people have to do things in their own time. No amount of begging Sammy to dunk her head under the water would have done her any good until she was ready.

Sammy and I spent the rest of the morning swimming and the afternoon at the ice cream shop celebrating her accomplishment.

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