You're walking around on the West Side of Tulsa when you notice a teenage boy slumped over with his head in his hands on a park bench. When you approach, he looks up at you. He has tears in his eyes, but he tries to fight them back and smile at you.

Hi... I'm fine... I've never seen you around here before. He swallows and continues talking. I'm Randy. What's your name?

You don't buy it, given that he's almost crying, but you just smile at him and introduce yourself. He invites you to sit next to him. Seeing the sympathetic look in your eyes, he lets the words spill out.

I'm tired of all this stupid fighting. My best friend is gone forever— his voice breaks— and no amount of fighting will ever bring him back. But now one of the east-side kids is hurt and might die, and the youngest one wants to go to the rumble tonight. I don't want him to get hurt. I tried to talk him out of going, but I don't know if it worked.

Your eyes widen as Randy continues his story, and you motion for him to continue.

I don't even think I want to go! But I guess I have to go, or else everyone'll think I'm weak. His voice wobbles again. I don't know what to do.