I've been surfing for eight years, living in California. Last August I was out near shore — perfect day, decent waves. Then I spotted a fin about twenty yards out. Not a small one. I froze on my board. Couldn't make a sound. It was heading straight for me. Then someone jumps off a nearby yacht. No warning. Just — splash. Massive. Water everywhere. The shark turns and bolts. A guy climbs back up onto the swim platform. I recognize him instantly — a singer the entire world knows. Soaking wet, board shorts, clearly had no idea what just happened. Turns out he just went for a swim. Never saw me, never saw the shark. We just looked at each other. Him: You okay? Me: There was a shark. Him, after a pause: ...Yeah. I saw it after. We stood there for a second. Then he swam back to the yacht. I told everyone. Nobody believed any of it — not the shark, not the singer. My buddies said I got too much sun. My girlfriend said I have a wild imagination. One friend just replied "sure man" and left it on read. To this day I don't know if he saved me or if it was just dumb luck. But the shark left.