This book feels like a classic. Beyond the shoot outs and the outlaws and the sheriffs (but honestly, who doesn't love all that?), its core is a tragedy of fate. Billy joins the ranks of innocents I desperately wish to pull out of their books and save, who have perhaps already come out of their books from being so real in talking directly to their reader as if they were your friend--or someone who has finally bothered to listen to them (Huckleberry Finn, Holden Caulfield, Ponyboy, Esther Greenwood, even 𝘊𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘰𝘰'𝘴 𝘕𝘦𝘴𝘵's Billy...). The mixing of perspectives between Billy's account and the unbiased newspaperman's "what really happened" makes your heart break even further for the main character, and while you hate the villain for what he's done to the boy's life you cannot help but love every moment he is on the page. His unhinged nature covered with charm is as entertaining as it is terrifying. I do not want to get into spoilers, so I am being a bit vague, but the book's thesis statement in its final, adrenaline-filled chapters was left hanging in my head days after the read.