The Shades of Spring

An unexpected turn of events

Her phone binged with messages. Mumbling, she rolled over in bed, squinting to read the time on her screen.
07.36
Good God, these morning people.

She ignored the messages from other chats and went straight to the library group.

Gordon C: L shelf in left or right corner?

Melissa W: Right sounds about right.

Hafsa M: But it'll extend too close to the door.

Melissa W: Good point.

Gordon C: So left?

Melissa W: Possibly.

Hafsa M: Where's our skipper and the others?? GUYS!! WAKE UP!!

Melissa K: My WiFi is slow. I just read the messages. Left sounds good.

Sidra J: Morning, guys. Yeah. Left is good.

Melissa K: Morning.

Melissa W: Good Morning, Sid.

Gordon C: Morning to you too.

Karan B: It's SUNDAY morning you stupids!

Sidra J: Rise and shine greenie. Online meeting in 45 mins. I have the diorama ready.

Hafsa M: Are you always such a stickler? I'm so glad I don't have to do the thinking.

Sidra J: Technically speaking I am not a stickler. I just make the plans and then sit and watch you people scurry about. Or at least I like to think I do. I don't like to remember I did all the labelling with Mel n Mel when the rest of you were off having ice cream.

Sidra J: Doesn't reflect well on the rest of you, does it?

Gordon C: My apologies. But we brought ice creams for you too.

Sidra J: Many thanks, Gordon. Now can some one call Musa and wake him up before the meeting?

Melissa K: Will do.

Sidra padded down to the kitchen and saw her brother Hamza languorously stretching in the sofa with his homework. She dropped a kiss on his cheek and went to get her breakfast.
"Sid, why is velocity different from speed?"

"Because velocity is plus or minus depending on direction. Speed is the same either way."

"Ah," he went back to his book.

After a brainstorming session on Zoom, she transferred her thoughts to school. Hammad was showing improvement. Instigating conversation was a good start for her. Mostly, it was a passing comment about something commonplace. But she was still biding her time, waiting for him to open up to classroom discussions.
She busied herself with tidying the house and offering to cook the meals. She hadn't done much cooking since the archives came up.

Her phone rang, caller ID flashing Gordon's name.
"Hey," he said when she picked up.
"Hi, what's it?"
"I'm down in the library..."
"Yeah?" she prompted, her pulse quickening.
"The place has been trashed."
___________

Peter Heckler was going ballistic in the backroom. He yelled at the overnight guards and threatened to sue their agency.

Weeks and weeks of hard work lay ruined and strewn about infront of her- toppled shelves, torn boxes, bunched up banners and smashed glass. The partly unhinged door swayed to and fro in the draft that came through, useless as a shard of glass. The prized prints of a newspaper no longer in business were soaked in the overnight rain.

The sight made Sidra want to cry. Her team and herself had gone many sleepless nights staying up late to discuss and come up with the orders for each shelf.
With only three and a half weeks to go for the scheduled grand opening, the destruction was near unsalvageable.

"What the frickin' f*ck do you mean you didn't hear??? Is your company sending in deaf manpower? Is that what?" Peter wasn't done chewing off the guards. Their faces flushed and beetroot red, they looked to their main guard for support, who in turn, hung his head and fought hard to find his tongue.

"I can't believe this," Gordon was saying. "I come in to measure the wall for the new shelf and instead I see this.."

Her voice was low and hollow, lacking the usual wit and mirth.
"If it weren't for you, we'd see it another day late when we came in for work."

"I know....but.." he lapsed into silence.

Hafsa hurried over, apologising for missing the bus. Her hand flew to her mouth when she saw the damage done.
"What the hell happened?!"

Melissa Kendrick volunteered the information. "Someone came through that rickety window, into the backroom, broke the door and went to the archives. Trashed it all and got out without the guards hearing or seeing."
Years of disuse had turned the outhouse building into little more than a shed without a real purpose.

Breath wasted, Peter strode over to the group who looked at him with various expressions of shock, sadness, anger and disbelief.
"The Police Department will investigate into this," he rubbed his brow with a palm, "I should have been careful."

"It's not your fault, Peter," Karan offered.

"But it is. I should have installed the CCTV on this side of the building too."
Nobody contradicted that point.

He gazed at Sidra for a long time before speaking, "Sidra, I know I can't apologize enough for my carelessness. But since you're in charge of the team, tell me how many days you need more. I'll put in a word with the management as my last act before I get fired."

There was a beat of silence before she spoke, low and clear, her voice carrying well across the room.
"None." The crowd knit closer around her. "We don't need to postpone this, Sir. We'll open as scheduled," she stated.

Sidra squared her shoulders and drew herself to her full height of 5 foot 9. "I'm going to need everyone to work with me. We double the effort, meet the deadline heads on. I'm not giving you a choice, guys. Sorry. You can file a complaint against me after the opening is over with. Peter, I need you to authorise weekend visits for us and make sure it is recorded. You can handle the legal side. My team and I will handle the rest."

Fourteen plus nine pairs of eyes of the assembled team and administrators bore into her from all sides.

Peter opened his mouth to object, but Sidra cut in. "Leave the how's to me. Focus on getting us CCTVs." Her voice became a little louder, "the rest of you, get to work now."

Musa reacted first; pushing up his sleeves, he began to pick the glass off the shattered cupboard doors. The others followed his example, taking up the other tasks. Glass was picked, shelves righted, papers collected off the floor. Contrary to their usual chatter, the day proceeded with little more than monosyllabic answers and grunts.

When she reached home that evening, Hamza was playing football in the living room.
He yelled his salaams, she grimaced and replied kicking off her shoes. Hamza took the cue about his sister's temper and refrained from further engagement. She was squatting and gulping a bottle of water from the fridge when a stray kick hit her head, knocking down the bottle and splitting her lip.
"Sorry!" he flew down to her but her temper was lost.
She roared in anger and threw his ball clean out of the window, her anger lending extra strength. Then proceeded to shake the twelve year old in a fit of rage.
"How many times do I tell you not to play in the house?! Are you mad?! Why don't you ever listen, you IDIOT!!"
Soon an argument broke out and her mother rushed in to pull them apart. Sidra didn't wait to be chided, she turned on her heel and stormed into her room, banging the door shut.

A second later, the tears came.