Read Online Alana Oakley by Poppy Inkwell - Free Book Online

(I’m fine, and you?)
    â€œOkay, loh.” Alana remembered to push Miller playfully on the shoulder. “Wah seh, you so stylo milo today. You got pak toh izzit? (I’m okay. Wow, you look very stylish/fashionable today. Have you got a date?) Alana flicked her hair, batted her eyes, and put her hands on her hips.
    Miller, taken aback by this sudden show of femininity, stuttered a thank-you. “Xièxiè.”
    Alana ignored the sound of Miss Wu’s teeth snapping together and ploughed on. “Who izzit? Who izzit? I know her one, or not?” (Who is it? Who is it? Do I know her?)
    Miller, unsure of what Alana was talking about, continued blindly.
    Miller: “W ǒ men yìq Ä­ ch Ä« w ǔ fàn.””(Let’s have lunch.)
    Alana: “Can … can. Tài h ǎ o leh … you belanjar ? ” (Sure, we can do that. Great … your treat, right?) Ling Ling had been most emphatic about including this. Never go out, she warned, without deciding who was picking up the tab. When Alana protested, saying it sounded rude, Ling Ling had pushed her objections off the cliff.
    Miller was relieved that their presentation was over. “H ǎ o ba, w ǒ men z ǒ u ba.” (Okay, let’s go.) Alana turned to see the Mandarin teacher’s face, no longer a subtle peach, more a livid beetroot. “What are you speaking?” Miss Wu asked, appalled.
    â€œUmm, modern Mandarin?” Alana replied uncertainly.
    â€œNo, no, no. This is not Mandarin. This is an abomination!”
    Alana’s original hunch had been correct. She should never have taken up the offer from her mad-cap ‘aunt’. But Auntie Ling Ling later defended her decision to teach Alana ‘Singlish’ – Singapore English – on social grounds. Singlish, she explained, was extremely useful when you wanted to hang out with friends, go shopping or order food. It was a fusion of English, all four Chinese languages (Hokkien, Cantonese, Mandarin and Teochew), Malay and even Punjabi, reflecting the diverse, colourful blend of cultures living there. “Wah seh, how you expect to pick up boys with: ‘Hi. My name is Alana. What’s your name’? I mean, like, bo-ring!” she fake-yawned. “So obiang! Old fashion, lah, all that formal Mandarin.”
    â€œI’m not supposed to be picking up boys!” Alana fumed.
    â€œEh, I’m trying to make education more exciting, okay?” huffed Ling Ling, who slipped into more slang on the rare occasions she got angry. “And practical .” She aimed a pointed look at Emma, who shrugged. “An zhua? (What’s your problem?) You yaya papaya (arrogant) orready, (already) lah. Now you know more than me, dowan (don’t want) my help. But I tell you,” Ling Ling wagged a warning fingernail of shimmering bronze, “learn proper way, where got fun one? Soo stoopid, you kuku-bird!” She grumbled under her breath. Ling Ling, her Singlish and her pick-up lines disappeared in a blur of shimmery chiffon.
    The next morning it was doubly frustrating when the school administrator did not transfer Alana to Malay as soon as she put in the request.
    â€œPlease, please, please,” she begged, “I have to do Malay.” She searched for a valid excuse and found nothing. “I’m desperate.”
    Mrs Machlin shook her head. “That’s not a good enough reason, Alana.”
    â€œWell no, I know, but … I really, really, really have to transfer!” she insisted, lowering her voice. Her eyes skittered. She had just noticed Someone Else in the office.
    Mrs Machlin caught the panicked glance Alana shot Flynn and instantly drew the wrong conclusion. “I … see. Desperate to ‘learn Malay’, huh?”
    â€œI’m not … it’s not because of …” Alana protested, but this only confirmed Mrs Machlin’s suspicions.
    â€œIt’s alright,