THE CONFESSIONS OF JOSH TATE

I remember when, as a young boy, I opened the door of our family's station wagon as we were speeding down the highway. My Mom barked at me from the front passenger seat, and I quickly let the door shut claiming it had been accidental, but for a moment I had seen the blur of the pavement and felt the wind pushing against the plane of the door. It was no accident. I got what I wanted.