A Sea of Shattered Glass Read online

  “Deal!” Instantly appeased, Benjie shoved his backpack into her hands and tugged off his shirt, jeans, and shoes. He nearly tripped but managed to right himself. He scampered across the deck to the tub of life vests and wrestled one on. He launched straight into the deep end of the pool, splashing everyone within reach.

  Two hot guys lounging on the edge dabbed water out of their sculpted hair. They both shot her a dirty look, distorting their perfect features. What did they expect, anyway? They were sitting in a pool. Still, Willow’s cheeks burned.

  Benjie came up sputtering, a giant grin plastered across his face. One thing her brother never lacked was courage. He would've leapt into the deep end without a vest if she hadn’t stopped him, convinced he'd be able to swim out of sheer desire. She picked up Benjie's discarded clothes and tossed them on an empty lounge chair.

  Staff members in khaki shorts and ironed polo shirts strolled among the rows of lounge chairs, carrying frilly, fruity drinks on trays. Service bots straightened lounge cushions and delivered fresh towels. Women sashayed across the deck in string bikinis, headed for the bar or the infinity pool further down the lido deck. They all seemed so perfect. Even the older ladies were well-preserved and impeccably styled.

  “Watch me!” Benjie cried, leaping into the deep end again.

  Willow waved at him. “Someone's a wee bit overexcited.”

  Zia lifted her shirt over her head. Her bikini was bright turquoise with silver-studded stars. Even though she’d gotten it at a consignment store, it still looked cute. She was as short as Willow at barely five feet tall, but thinner, with stringy arms and skinny legs. Willow was cursed with her father's genes—'big bones', as her mom so kindly put it.

  Zia raised her eyebrows. “Aren't you excited?”

  She shrugged. She should be excited. She should be thrilled. Elated. But she wasn’t. And that unsettled and irritated her in a way she couldn't explain.

  “I mean, not even Arjun's family goes on cruises like this. And they have, like, three houses.”

  Willow rubbed sunblock into the light brown skin of her arms. Her lola, Lola Cherry, was always bugging her about staying out of the sun. Lola Cherry got her nickname for her favorite cherry red lipstick she always used, even though she was in her eighties, wore a zebra print housedress every day, and barely left the house. Willow’s heart twinged. Lola Cherry would love this trip. “Yeah, I get it. We're delighted and grateful and oh so undeserving of such a mah-vah-lace experience.”

  Zia shot her a look. “Don't let Mom hear you talking like that. It wouldn't kill you to be happy once in a while, you know.”

  “Whatever.”

  Zia leapt up. “Be that way, then. I, for one, intend to enjoy every second!” She stalked off toward the lagoon hot tub.

  Willow sank back on the lounge chair as the gel cushion conformed to her body. She checked on Benjie again. He was waiting in line for the transparent tube slide, his skinny arms crossed over his life vest, his too-big swim trunks sagging over his narrow hips.

  She shoved her cheap sunglasses down over her eyes. She didn't want to be in a bad mood. She didn't want to waste the only vacation she'd probably ever have stuck babysitting, either.

  That’s all she did at home, anyway. That and the part-time job she took just to pay the bills. Instead of enjoying her senior year with her friends, she juggled classwork with after-school and weekend shifts as a groundskeeper for a landscaping company. She was short and thick, but she was strong. She mowed lawns, trimmed hedges, pulled weeds, hacked errant branches, and lugged around forty-pound bags of mulch and fertilizer with the best of them.

  But not anymore. You couldn’t miss two weeks of work for anything, not with five hundred hungry, well-qualified applicants lined up to seize that job right out from under you. Metalheads could do the work, but human labor was cheaper, at least in landscaping. With more and more jobs disappearing to quantum computers and service bots, and with college tuition so crazy expensive, this was all that was left. This was life, now.

  “I should stay home,” Willow had said to her mom. “I need this job.”

  But her mom had gripped her shoulders and gazed at her with exhausted yet determined eyes. “You're smart, Lo Lo. You'll find other jobs. But this . . .” Her voice trailed off, like she couldn't bring herself to say it. They could save for a lifetime and still never afford something like this.

  “We should sell the tickets,” Willow had said. “Think of what they'd pay for—”

  “You know we can't do that. My employers would be highly displeased. But we can make some glorious memories, neneng. Memories that can keep us warm on cold days.”

  Which was a load of crap. The only thing keeping them warm on cold days was the electric bill Willow paid with her own money. After this cruise of said glorious memories, she’d have to start over again. No more joking with Nicolás Q. while they spread mulch in the hot sun or trading swiped cigarettes for credit with J.J. behind the dumpsters.

  She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, but nothing could quite quench the desperate ache in her belly, the anxiety that wouldn't quit.

  At the Tides Tapas Café, located across from the pool, guests ordered their food from the menu embedded in the smooth surface of the tables. Service bots delivered platters of bite-sized burgers, stuffed mushrooms, and miniature stacks of fresh fruit.

  Willow breathed in the savory, mouthwatering aromas. Every morsel was the real deal, not that prefab crap that still tasted like it was made in a lab—or a cardboard box. As soon as Benjie was finished swimming, she was going to order every single thing on the menu.

  A girl three lounge chairs over sat up, distracting Willow. The girl uncuffed her SmartFlex and placed it on the narrow table between the chairs. Everyone here had the latest SmartFlexes, slim cuffs in sleek white, smoky platinum, shimmering rose gold, or silver filigree edged in tiny rubies. They looked like designer jewelry until the digital overlay or holo ports were activated.

  The girl rose to her feet, graceful as a swan. She was strange-looking but arresting, with delicate features, milky-white skin, and blue-tinted sunglasses. She sauntered across the deck toward the pool, her long white-blonde hair swaying to her waist.

  Willow glanced back at the table next to the girl's lounge chair. The girl not only abandoned her SmartFlex in plain sight, she also left a gleaming, diamond-encrusted charm bracelet.

  She just left it there. What arrogance. What kind of world did she live in, that she believed no one else would want what she had? Or maybe she thought no one else would dare to steal anything from someone like her.

  A gaggle of girls mobbed the white-haired girl before she took a dozen steps. They were all skinny and perfect, with shiny, flowing hair and gleaming SmartFlexes on their wrists. “Why, if it isn't Amelia Black!” one of them crooned. “I haven't seen you in forever!”

  Willow recognized the name with a jolt. The daughter of that famous biotech CEO who’d cured cancer or whatever. She'd seen the girl and her father plenty of times on TV; she’d just never paid attention.

  A tall, graceful African-American girl pinched Amelia Black's arm. “You look like a ghost. Don't you ever go outside?”

  Amelia withdrew her arm but flashed a smile. “Practice makes perfect, Celeste.”

  “All Amelia does is practice ten hours a day,” said a white girl with pouty lips and enormous, silver-framed sunglasses. Her blonde hair shimmered with lavender highlights.

  “Only four hours, usually,” Amelia said.

  “Enough with the humble brag already,” Celeste said. Her cloud of springy, coppery coils formed a halo around her face. She pursed her full lips. “We get it. You’re amazing.”

  Amelia turned to Celeste, her smile widening. “Are you skiing in Aspen again for Thanksgiving, Celeste?”

  “My mom insisted, though I far prefer Megève in France.”

  Willow tried to pretend she wasn’t listening, but she couldn’t help it. These girls were like creatures from
another planet.

  The skinny white girl gave Amelia air kisses. “She's just grumpy because Brock Pembroke broke up with her.”

  “Shut up, Kendyll,” Celeste hissed.

  “I'm so sorry, Celeste,” Amelia said. “His loss.”

  There was a moment of strained silence.

  “Anyway,” Celeste said briskly. “We're headed to the spa for that 24-carat gold radiance facial. They massage micronized gold into your skin with ultrasonic nano-mist.”

  “And you've got to try the divine Turkish Haman exfoliating treatment,” gushed Kendyll, wrapping her arm around Amelia’s waist.

  Amelia hesitated for only a fraction of a second. “That sounds wonderful.”

  The girls shimmied past Willow’s lounge chair. Celeste glanced at her. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing,” Willow said, sharper than she meant to.

  Scorn flashed in Celeste’s eyes. “And I thought this ship was supposed to be the best of the best. Guess they'll let any riffraff on these days.”

  Anger flared through Willow, sharp and spiky. “It's a good thing you can buy beauty,” she snapped. “Too bad you can't fix stupid.”

  The girl’s smile only widened, revealing her perfect white teeth. “You don't need to be smart when you're this rich, bitch.”

  The other girls laughed. All except for Amelia Black. Her gaze swept over and past Willow like she wasn't even there, like she was less than nothing.

  Willow glared at their backs as they sauntered off, heat flushing her cheeks. That girl was right, though. She did stand out like a sore thumb. She was too short, too chubby, her black hair too coarse, her features too plain, just the Filipina daughter of a Filipina maid. Every one of those girls oozed sophistication and class. They'd been born with it. She had none of those things. And she never would.

  Her mind churned—with anger, but also with something else. She looked back at the diamond bracelet, still lying there on the side table, glistening in the sunlight. Rich and arrogant princesses, the lot of them. None of them would miss any of the jewelry they wore. J.J. would know where to fence it. She’d stolen stuff before—clothes, old smart phones, a Rolex watch, once a hacked SmartFlex. But that bracelet could pay for something important, like college.

  Right now, college was out of the question. Higher education was far too expensive, reserved only for the upper-middle class and the elite. Keeping semi-healthy food on the table was hard enough. They already ate rice and pancit noodles practically every meal, and even rice was more expensive with that bacterial blight destroying all the rice crops in Asia. She'd end up like her mom, exhausted and overworked, consumed by worry, forever trapped in survival mode.

  But that bracelet. It would pay for one, maybe two years of college. Even more, if she got lucky. And what was this cruise but a bit of luck? Maybe the only luck she'd ever get the rest of her miserable life. She couldn't waste it.

  She stood, her heart hammering in her throat, her palms clammy. All the sounds around her—the shrieking kids, the dull drone of the ship's engine, the classical music piping through the speakers—faded away. She kept her gaze locked on the bracelet. It would only take a moment to slip it in her pocket. She could almost feel it, cool and heavy in her fingers.

  “Ma'am?”

  She froze.

  A Filipino waiter held out a frosted glass, a big grin on his face. “Would you like a virgin margarita?”

  She inhaled a shaky breath, took the drink, and sank back into her lounge chair. “Thank you.”

  “Also, I’d be happy to clean your sunglasses.”

  “Um, really? Sure, I guess.” She gave him her sunglasses without thinking. He took a small bottle out of a pouch at his waist, spritzed and wiped them with a microfiber cloth, then handed them back. One lens was scratched and the left end piece was dented.

  Heat bloomed in her cheeks. He’d probably never seen crappier sunglasses in his life. “Thanks,” she said between gritted teeth.

  He just smiled and moved on to the other guests.

  Benjie dashed up. “We’re setting sail! Come watch!”

  And the moment to take the bracelet was lost.

  But no matter. Deep in her mind, the seed was planted. A way to make this bit of luck count. To make it grow. To wrestle her destiny into submission. And to get just a small, sweet taste of revenge.

  Willow loved her mom, but she couldn't turn into her.

  She could do this.

  She had to.

  3

  Amelia

  “You look lovely, as always.” Amelia's mother clasped the pearl necklace around her neck.

  Eighteen-year-old Amelia studied her reflection in the mirror. Her silver dress looked like it was made of shimmering scales shifting with her every movement. Her hair was piled in a braided bun circling her head, loose tendrils curling about her face.

  Her gaze refocused on the room behind her. The 4000-square foot Infinity Suite was the most extravagant stateroom on the ship, with eucalyptus-treated cashmere mattresses imported from Italy, Egyptian silk bedding, mahogany floors, and sleek white furniture. The bathroom boasted a marble tub and a separate rain shower with a dozen massage nozzles and aromatherapy personalized with her favorite scent, lavender chamomile.

  But the part she loved best was the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Ten feet tall and spanning the width of the suite, the expanse of glass made it seem like the ocean itself was at her fingertips.

  As soon as they'd arrived that afternoon, she dropped her purse and rushed to the glass wall, staring in wonder at the vast, endless ocean stretching out below her.

  “Magnificent, isn't it?” her mother had said. “I could do without everything else—the chandeliers and the butler service and the fancy restaurants. But this—this takes my breath away.”

  Amelia pressed her hands against the glass. It felt like the sky was close enough to touch.

  “Isn't it amazing how they make the glass strong enough to support the walls of a cruise ship?” Her mother's expression was thoughtful, almost pensive. “Glass is beautiful but weak. But it can be strengthened by heat—made strong by fire.”

  Amelia tapped the crystal-clear glass. “It's beautiful and strong.”

  “Exactly. This glass contains aluminum oxide compounds. Only diamonds are harder.” Her mother had touched Amelia’s arm, about to say something else when their personal butler arrived to unpack their belongings.

  Amelia’s brother, Silas, barged in after him and immediately rummaged around in the stocked minibar. The room’s AI system started asking each of them their comfort preferences—memory gel pillow or hypoallergenic air cushion, sparkling or vitamin water—and whatever her mother was going to say was lost in the bustle.

  Now it was almost time for dinner. Silas still lay sprawled on the ivory settee, his bare legs slung over the tufted arm. He wore his VR glasses and his sensor gloves, making strange gestures in the air with his hands. Though he was fifteen months younger, his broad shoulders and sullen gaze made people assume he was older. Where Amelia was light, he was dark. He had their father's lean, wolfish face, smoke-gray eyes and tall, fit build.

  “Doesn't he need to get ready?” Amelia tilted her chin at her brother.

  Her mother blew a strand of hair out of her face with a huff. She tapped Silas's foot until he lifted the VR glasses.

  “What?”

  “Can you put on your tux, please? Your father needs us ready to go in five minutes.”

  Silas scowled. “Pretty sure my father needs absolutely nothing from me.”

  “You know that's not true.”

  Declan Black slid open the glass doors of the veranda and strode into the suite. He'd been standing out by the plunge pool for the last twenty minutes. He tapped off the platinum earpiece curved around his right ear and slipped it into the pocket of his tuxedo. His commanding presence drew all the energy of any room toward him. His dark brown hair and spade-shaped beard were threaded with silver, his magnetic, i
ron-hued eyes dark and brooding.

  Amelia rubbed her charm bracelet, pressing the platinum violin between her fingers. Her father had bought her the bracelet for her thirteenth birthday, adding a charm every year. “Are we dining with the captain tonight?”

  “Of course,” Declan said. “I have you seated next to Senator López. Elise, you'll be seated with the current secretary of Health and Human Services.”

  “Why is he the 'current' secretary?” Silas asked from the settee, a smirk in his voice.

  Declan barely glanced at his son. “Larsson is on the cusp of retirement. There are big changes coming. The Lord has stretched his blessing over the leadership of this country. We have much to celebrate.”

  His words were pleasant, but she recognized the strain in his face, the furrow of his brows, the slight hunch in his shoulders. The conversation he'd just ended hadn't gone well. She tensed. “Who were you talking to?”

  “We're firming the last few details of a new acquisition,” he said. “Nothing to concern your pretty little head about.”

  His gaze swept over his daughter and wife, his eyes narrowing as he appraised the two women in front of the mirror. Amelia’s mother met her gaze in the mirror. She was half-Portuguese and beautifully elegant, from her sculpted cheekbones and arched brows to her flawless posture and immaculate style.

  But it didn’t matter how perfect they looked. There was always something wrong. Amelia's gut tightened. She stood taller, forcing a smile.

  “Not the pearls.” Declan fingered the array of necklaces, earrings, and bracelets spread out on the vanity. He pushed aside the vase of fresh orchids delivered by their personal butler that morning and picked up a white gold necklace with a half-carat, deep blue benitoite gemstone haloed with diamonds. “Blue is her color.”

  Amelia stared at herself in the mirror as her father replaced the pearl necklace with the benitoite. He was right. It glistened at her throat, bringing out the ice blue of her eyes.

  Declan turned to his wife. “Wear your hair down. That up-do ages you.”