Just Do It (TannerBraungardtxDylanMitchell)

2: Of Course It All Went Wrong

"Well, Dylan is late again."

Quentin and Tanner sat on the tailgate of Tanner's pick up truck, waiting for their flake of a friend. The bed was loaded up with an air mattress, an unnecessarily huge tent, throwing knives, and a half eaten bag of Cap'n Crunch. They were ready to go, despite missing the essentials.

A beat up red car eventually pulled into the drive, and Tanner jumped to the ground in excitement. Dylan stepped out of the driver's seat, wearing only baggy black shorts, a pair of red high tops, and some pink tinted Aviator sunglasses.

"About time you got here, asshole." Tanner punched his shoulder, then hugged him.

"Sorry, you know how my mom is."

As lame as that excuse was, they let it slide, and climbed into the cab of the pick up. They turned up the radio- which happened to be playing Coldplay- so loudly that the speakers crackled, and they sped through the neighborhood.

Tanner loved this road. It wound through town, past his grandparent's farm. He used speed down it everyday. Then he moved to a nearby town, and didn't get to come this way anymore. He missed it, the feel of the road, and the fresh country air.

It got rough when they veered off onto a dusty gravel road littered with deep potholes. They bounced around in the cab, leaving a trail of rusty dust in the air behind then, but they all together made it to their destination safely.

Dylan immediately second guessed the whole thing. The moment the door was opened, they were hit with hot, wet air. The humidity was worse under the grove of low hanging trees that trapped every bit of moisture. He groaned in defeat, prepared for a restless, miserable night.

"It won't be so bad closer to the water." Tanner cheered, overly optimistic.

Dylan shrugged, following Quentin through an overgrown path to the river. They could mostly comfortably breathe again in the clearing at the muddy banks. Their environment stunk of old moss, sun baked mud, and dead fish. Tanner breathed in with a smile.

"Nothing like being a country boy, am I right?" Tanner stated in a fake southern accent.

His friends halfheartedly laughed. They obviously didn't appreciate the backwoods lifestyle as much as some people. He didn't mind though. He was a country boy through and through.

Quentin went about setting up the ridiculous tent by himself. Meanwhile, Tanner and Dylan tasked themselves with playing with knives and slapping each other's asses.

Dylan struck a pose that appeared professional. He held one gleaming rainbow blade between his thumb and index finger, and threw it. The knife disappeared.

"Well, you don't know what you're doing." Tanner commented.

"You try, asshole."

He stood about ten feet from the small tree that was their target, pulled his arm over his shoulder, and threw the blade which promptly landed in a thicket of tall dry grass at the base of the tree.

"Well, at least I did better than you."

They bent over, pushing the itchy grass back in every direction, searching for the lost blades, eyes peeled for a hint of color. It didn't take much for them to give up.

"You'd think they'd be easy to find."

Tanner smacked Dylan's ass with a force that created a small echo.

"What the fuck was that for?" Dylan yelled, shocked by the stinging sensation on his right cheek.

"You lost my knives, Mylan Ditchell."