When you're a teenager without a driver's license, it doesn't take long to get bored. In Newport, you get bored hanging out in the parking lot in Wal-Mart, waiting for the cops to tell you to beat it. You get bored cheering the Fighting Cocks, watching "American Idol," and swilling soda at the tiny movie theater. You even get bored playing "Grand Theft Auto III," which is what happened to Will and Josh that night in June.

The summer of 2003 had started on a bad note. Josh failed seventh grade. It turned out that he had not been turning in his homework throughout the year. Wayne and Donna went in for a meeting with the teachers and Josh, but he offered no explanation. As Wayne recalled, "He just said he didn't feel like turning it in." While Amanda, Will, Sarah and his friends would be moving on, he would be staying behind. Despite the recent breakdown over his mother, Josh was back to his ways of denial. "He just laughed everything off again," Wayne said.

Will, on the other hand, had every reason to look up. After months of biding his time, he was one month from turning 16 and getting his driver's license. He and Donna had even made plans to get him his own car, a used Mustang that he couldn't wait to get his hands on. With his own wheels, the invisible walls of Newport would finally come down. He could pick up Amanda himself, take her to the skateboard park, maybe even cruise up to Dollywood to soak in the Big Bear Plunge rafting ride. But he would never get the chance.

After a few rounds of "Grand Theft Auto III" that night, Josh felt the boredom set in. Hey, he said to Will, let's go shoot at the sides of trailer rigs for real. It was doable. Wayne and Donna were home, which meant their bedroom door would be unlocked. They went upstairs. Their parents were watching TV. They asked if they could go ride the four-wheeler. Donna looked outside. The sun was still out. "OK," she said, "but you gotta be in before dark."

The four-wheeler didn't go anywhere that night. Will and Josh sneaked the .22 rifles from their parents' bedroom closet and hit the trail across the street. It's a steep incline down to the creek. They passed the rickety pump house, cutting their way down the path they'd cut with Wayne long before. Up the trail, they could hear the semis speeding down the highway. Pigeons fluttered from behind a faded billboard. The boys took a few shots at the birds but, despite the short distance, missed. The trailer rigs would be easier to hit.

They crossed a rickety wooden fence that separated the path from the hill overlooking I-40. Will faced west down the road. Josh ran a short distance along the hill and faced east. They didn't say anything to each other. They just started firing. Will thought that if he actually hit a rig, the bullets would just bounce off the side. After more than 20 shots, though, they hadn't hit anything. But Will had a few bullets remaining, and he fired them away. Then they heard the rubber squeal.

After they saw the red truck careen over the median, they ran, assuming they had accidentally shot out a tire. Wayne and Donna were still watching TV when they came back home, and the boys quickly put the guns back in the closet. But their minds and hearts were racing. From the house, Will and Josh could hear the police sirens. When they asked if they could go back outside and hit golf balls, Wayne and Donna didn't think anything of it.

An hour later, Will and Josh were nowhere to be found. Calls to the walkie-talkies they carried went unanswered. Wayne got in the truck and drove up the road. Donna grabbed a flashlight and hit the trail, fearing they had some kind of accident. Desperate, she called 911 and reported the boys missing. The cops called her back. "We have your boys right here," she was told.

While investigating the scene of the shooting, a cop saw Will and Josh standing up on the hillside. "It's not a place you expect to find kids around," said Al Schmutzer, the district attorney who would prosecute the case. "The officer began talking to them and getting unusual answers."

When the boys were released to their parents, they said they had been out shooting pigeons with their pellet gun, and when the pigeons flew over the highway, they might have accidentally shot the cars. But their parents knew enough to know that a pellet couldn't do that kind of damage. Two days later during questioning over a polygraph test, Will and Josh broke down and confessed. "They said they'd got the idea from playing the game," Schmutzer said. The Buckners were ordered to turn over to the police their guns and their copy of "Grand Theft Auto III."

As the sensational news of the video-game killers hit, the residents and national media descended upon the small town. Josh would be the youngest person tried for homicide in Newport history. In written statements, the boys expressed remorse. "I will always hate myself for what happened," Will wrote. "If I could give my life to bring him back, I gladly would. I know what I did was stupid. I didn't think anyone would get hurt ... I am so so sorry, and no matter how long the judge gives me, it won't be long enough because I will still hate myself." Josh wrote, "I am sorry ... I hate that it happened ... I know what it is like to lose someone because I lost my mother when I was 11. And it has been hard without her."

On the day that the boys were being led into the courthouse, Amanda rushed down to get a glimpse. Will saw her long dark hair in the crowd and blew her a kiss as the cameras rolled. She knew they would never want to hurt anyone, but rejected the idea that the game was to blame. "I don't think it would persuade them to do this," she said over dinner at a local restaurant called the Fox n' Hound. "I mean, my aunt plays that game."

Amanda has been writing poems for Will. "Hold my hand," goes one, "make me stop crying. By myself I feel like dying. I can be strong if you stay. We can be together, we'll be okay. So here we are, together at last. We'll be okay, forget the past." But she hadn't brought herself to ask Will and Josh why they fired the shots that night. "I don't want to know the reasons," she said, picking at her food. "It freaks me out."

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