Floating in The Water

Chapter 14

To be honest, Liam has barely any recollection of Wednesday. There's so much going on with the stupid wedding reception. Liam ends up getting roped into waiting on tables, stuck in a pair of dress paints and a black vest. Harry sniggers at him the whole time, the prick.

Thursday is spent catching up on work he missed the day before, and setting up the tents for Friday's party.

He gets to sleep in on Friday, at least. Malik tells everyone who'll be working the party that they don't have to start getting ready until 10:30, which is a blessing. The party itself isn't starting until 5:00pm ("That way it'll still be early enough in the day for people to swim, and then we can do a bonfire at around eight," Eleanor explained on Thursday.) and it doesn't end until nine. Liam's not going to be on his feet the whole day, though, thankfully.

He still has to finish setting a few things up at his tent. Eleanor had ordered them a cheap box of white t-shirts, which Liam is now setting up at one of the tables in his tent. He gets a whole tent to himself. It's not one of those closed in tents, though. It's just four poles sticking out of the sand with a tarp stuck on top, that way he's not stuck in the sun the whole day.

He's got three tables: one for the shirts, which has a bucket of pens and markers on it so the kids can decorate them; one with actual paintbrushes and tubs of paint in every colour you could imagine; and one more table, which is covered in towels. That one's not actually for his activities; it's for after people get out of the water. Eleanor couldn't find anywhere else to put them, though. (Liam thinks that's a bad idea because the towels are white, and there's going to be a lot of paint flying around.)

"It's fucking hot," Harry says from behind him. Eleanor's got him running to and from the main building, carrying different things each time. "I think I'd almost rather be cleaning."

Liam laughs. "You wanted to be involved in this."

"Yeah, but I want to do something fun, like you. You get to throw paint at little kids, and I'm stuck carrying boxes of hamburger buns."

Liam raises an eyebrow. "You want to trade?"

Harry laughs and shakes his head. "Hell no. Do you know how hard it is to get paint out of this hair?"

"Get back to work, Styles," Eleanor says in a clipped tone. She's looked stressed all morning, not that Liam would ever mention such. "And Liam, are you good for paint? If you need more, I think we have another box up at the main building that Harry could get."

"Of course Harry could get it," Harry mutters under his breath. "Harry's a fucking golden retriever who isn't trusted to do anything but fetch."

"What was that?" Eleanor asks.

"I said your shoes are so fetch," Harry says brightly.

Eleanor looks down at the plain black running shoes she's wearing, frowning. "Get back to work, Harry," she repeats.

"You're a freaking dictator," Harry tells her.

"And you're going to be dick-less if you don't do your job," she replies.

Harry rolls his eyes and heads back up to the resort. Eleanor hurries off to boss someone else around, and Liam finishes setting up the paint. There's so much of it, it's ridiculous. What are they going to do, coat people in it?

By half past five, Liam realizes that, yes, that's exactly what they're going to do. The paint is non-toxic, and it washes off with just a bit of water. This means that none of the kids parents care if they cover themselves in it. Liam stopped trying to stop them after the third ten year old boy ripped his shirt off and poured half a tube of blue paint over his head.