Letters, Lies, and Wild Oak
The Westside Boys - Ep. 8
James doesn’t ask why they’re still staying at Grandma Betty’s house. Doesn’t ask when they’ll be able to go back to their own.
He wakes to the low murmur of voices in the kitchen—Grandma soft and warm, Mom sharp and low. He stays in bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks like a map that leads nowhere.
Then, like always, he powers up the game console and slides on his headset like it’s armor.
His thumb hovers over “Start.” Not to play—just to feel in control of something. The hum of the console, the menu music, the slight crackle in the mic—these are the only sounds that don’t lie to him. He puts the headset on. Not to talk to anyone. Just to disappear.
School’s out. The science wing is still smoldering. And the only thing louder than the news is the silence in his mom’s voice when she talks to Grandma.
Until she walks into the room and says, “Get dressed. I want you to come with me.”
No explanation. No warning. Just the kind of tone that says it matters.
The city looks tired. Buildings lean. Sidewalks sag. Every corner feels like it could explode.
James rides shotgun, hoodie up, watching the blur of his neighborhood like he’s trying to spot a version of it that still feels like home.
They pass their old block—yellow tape still flutters by the driveway. Porch light still busted. A paper curls on the lawn.
He wonders if anyone ever went inside to grab the photo of their family off the mantle. Probably not. Probably covered in ash by now.
He pulls his hood tighter, like maybe it’ll pull him back to the version of himself that lived there.
A voice cuts through the air: “They already burned down the school! Houses are next!”
It’s Mr. Howard. Red-faced. Furious. His voice cracks like a match over gasoline.
Justice doesn’t flinch. Just parks in front of City Hall, lips tight.
Inside, the air tastes like sweat and tension. Parents pack the room—faces hot, fists clenched. City officials sit like kings guarding a burning castle.
James spots familiar faces—Lou Lee. Danielle Washington. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Ms. Edwards.
Then the chaos begins.
“They’re not students,” one parent yells. “They’re weapons!”
Justice stands. “They’re children. They bleed like ours do.”
Her voice slices clean through the noise.
James watches as Oliver Crosby adjusts his tie like none of this concerns him. Chief Williams taps a pen like he’s timing how long he has to pretend to care.
James stares harder. Wonders how much of the city these men already sold off.
Then something strange—Lou Lee isn’t watching the crowd. He’s watching James.
Like he sees something in him James hasn’t even decided to become.
After the meeting, in a hallway that smells like old paint and panic, Lou presses a folded paper into Justice’s hand and vanishes into the noise.
Back in the car, she doesn’t speak. Not until they’re parked outside Betty’s again.
Then, slowly, she unfolds the letter.
The paper crackles too loud in the silence. James watches her eyes scan each line like she’s trying to hold onto him—his dad—with every word.
She doesn’t sob. Just… breaks. Quietly. Visibly. Her hand trembles. Her jaw locks. Her chest shudders.
James wants to scream. At who, he doesn’t know. The Chief? His dad for leaving? His mom for not telling him sooner?
Instead, he leans his forehead against the window and starts counting the cracks in the driveway.
He wants to ask to read it.
But seeing her like this…
That’s already more truth than he can hold.
He doesn’t speak. Just reaches over and holds her hand.
The silence between them isn’t empty. It’s full.
Later, James links up with Vincent and TJ in Wild Oak Forest. They hop fences, slide under low branches. TJ tells a dumb joke. Vincent swears he’s tracking something—footprints no one else can see.
For a second, it feels like the world isn’t ending. It’s just three boys in the woods.
They pass an old trail marker. A rusted bottle cap. Then pause.
Two figures ahead—Eric Johnson and Julie Lee—sneaking into the abandoned ranger station.
The forest air holds its breath.
Eric sees them. Doesn’t run. Just looks tired. Like he’s been dodging spotlights his whole life.
Julie tugs his hand. They vanish through a door half hanging off its hinges.
James doesn’t say anything. Just locks eyes with Eric.
We won’t tell, his eyes promise.
Because power doesn’t make you dangerous.
People do.
That night, James lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mom asleep in the next room. His dad somewhere out there, hunted for telling the truth.
And all he can think is:
Maybe power isn’t about flying or fireballs.
Maybe power is doing what’s right… even when it breaks you.
He breathes deep.
And starts to believe he can do it, too.
A soft knock at the door.
Justice stands there, holding a grilled cheese on a paper towel. Says nothing. Just sets it on the nightstand and leaves.
James stares at it for a long time. Then whispers, “Thanks.”
Not for the sandwich. For everything.
Want to know why Eric and Julie meet in the woods?
Want to find out how—and why—the science wing of Westside High burned down?
The answers live in the shadows of a love that was never supposed to exist.
📖 Read Love Is a Battlefield ep. 1