Goodreads asked Adam Holt:

What mystery in your own life could be a plot for a book?

Adam Holt In 9th grade, I was at a track meet in LaMarque. Pre-race rituals are important, especially after hour-long bus rides, so I pitstopped at the empty bathroom beneath the bleachers. I was wearing my blue and white Friendswood track gear - running shorts, singlet, spikes. I'm not sure what Achilles looked like the day he defeated Hector, but I certainly looked nothing like him as I checked to make sure my hair looked cool in the broken mirror. Cool enough, I thought. As I was about to make my exit, a group of older athletes - shotputters, discus tosser, leg breakers - walked into the bathroom. One of them picked up a broom handle and said, "Man, you came to the wrong bathroom." One of them turned out the light, and the last thing I saw was the four imposing figures walking toward me. /// I stayed calm, I prayed, and I'm not sure why I did this, but I walked right toward where they had been in the darkness. I should have bumped into one, if not all, of those boys, but I didn't. I opened the door on the other side and light flooded in. I did not look back. One quick turn and I was headed up the ramp that led to the track, which was bustling with people. I should've been beaten to a pulp below the football stands at LaMarque that day, but instead I ran my heat and made it to the finals. Now you tell me what sort of divine interference God ran that day. He didn't interfere about a year later when I was beat to a pulp at a football game, but that's okay. I learned a lot about anger, racism, and forgiveness from that dark time, and now I've shared this one, which still confounds me.

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