Note:

The dialogue in this book is written in Singlish (the type of English spoken by Singaporeans). While it should be understandable for all English speakers, the glossary for all Singlish terms and slang used is included at the end. Just trying to showcase an authentic feel of the country here!

---

Chloe

Feb 3, 2014, Monday.

Leading a double life sounds exciting, doesn't it? Like something out of a spy novel? But it's actually tiring. Really tiring, and this class isn't helping.

The words on the whiteboard turn into a blur as I stifle a yawn. An early morning class right after the week of Chinese New Year is the definition of torture, especially if it is an Econ class.

As Mr. Lim drones on about the 'demands and supplies of a free market', my mind drifts away. This class would be more interesting and useful if it were How to Get Rich Quick in Singapore. Now that would certainly have my full attention.

Stifling yet another yawn, I start doodling egg tarts, kueh lapis, and other tiny local pastries in the margins of my notebook. As usual, my eyes wander over to the girl sitting at the front of the classroom—and linger.

RJ.

She is studying the whiteboard with her back straight against the chair and her arms folded across her chest. Every so often, she gives Mr. Lim a short nod of understanding before flicking her light brown hair from her shoulders. From the way his face lights up, RJ's nods are probably the only ones Mr. Lim gets that are not from students dozing off.

Next to RJ, however, none of her friends are paying any attention at all. In fact, her boyfriend, Jon Kwek, is completely slumped on top of the table—wait, is he drooling? My nose wrinkles as I shift my eyes back to RJ. She is a lot more pleasing to look at.

I admire her ability to stay engaged in class all the time. She's also the top scorer in school and, from what I hear, a skilled tennis player for the school team. I wonder what her secret is. Coffee? Red bull? Getting the recommended eight hours of sleep a day? That may also explain why her skin is so smooth.

Being one of the richest girls at school probably helps too. A wave of her hand probably summons her a Red Bull-infused coffee from her maid.

Slowly, my doodle transforms into winged baby calves with pastries all over them.

"I see someone is swooning over Jon." Emma's voice snaps me out of my daydream.

"Har?" I whisper back frantically. "No, I'm not!"

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You've been doing nothing but staring at him," she says with a soft chuckle. "Don't worry lah, Chloe, even though he's RJ's boyfriend, you can still EC him, you know."

I wince. Eye-candy? Over that guy? Emma must be out of her mind. "I'm not EC-ing him lah. He's not even my type."

"I thought you said all rich people are your type?"

"I— Well, yeah, okay, whatever, I stand by that. Whoever said money doesn't buy happiness needs to take over my life. But that doesn't mean I EC him, okay?"

Another laugh escapes Emma's throat, but we immediately close our mouths when Mr. Lim rotates in our direction to explain the meaning of the demand curve. The moment he spins back to the board, Emma leans toward me again.

"Okay, so if not Jon, who were you staring at?" she asks. "Don't tell me Logan."

I almost let out a groan. Logan Bam is another person in RJ and Jon's 'rich kids' clique, and he is currently slouching next to the sleeping Jon and spinning his pen around his fingers. The pen flies out of his hand every other minute and he has to scramble around to pick it up.

"Not Logan, please. I'd rather date Adrian lah."

Emma nudges the boy next to her. "Eh, you hear that, Adrian? Chloe says she wants to date you leh."

Before I can even defend myself, Adrian pokes his head from behind Emma's head and deadpans, "Never."

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

If Mr. Lim had not turned around, I would have reached over and smacked the glasses off of that boy's head.

---

Right after the last class bell rings, I jolt out of my seat and begin stuffing my notes into my bag.

"Oh, you leaving for work?" Emma asks.

"Oh, yeah, sorry... I have a shift every day now."

Emma and Adrian exchange a concerned look.

"Every day? But what about your CCA?" Adrian asks, his brows furrowing above his round glasses.

"I... I told Ms. Goh about my mother, and she gave me the approval to skip out on extracurricular requirements this year," I explain. "I want to work as much as I can before A levels, you know?"

"But you never hang out with us anymore..." The disappointment in Emma's voice feels like a stab in my heart.

After all, the three of us used to hang out every day after school. We used to be inseparable, but we have not been able to do that for months now.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Emma..."

"It's okay lah." Emma forces the usual cheery expression back on her face. "It's not your fault anyway. Is your mom doing better, by the way?"

A bitter lump grows inside my throat, but I gulp it down. "Not too bad, actually. Her eyes don't hurt so much now. But I don't know..."

She gives my arm a supportive squeeze. "It's not getting worse, so that's a good sign, right?"

I give her an appreciative smile. "Yeah, it is."

"Oi, remember to bring back some leftover pastries ah," Adrian interjects.

Of course, Adrian has to ruin the sentimental moment between Emma and me. I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out. "Yeah lah, yeah lah, greedy pig."

"Eh, I heard BreadTalk throws out extra bread every night, okay? I just want to reduce food waste."

"Yeah, right, because you're such an eco-friendly person. Okay lah, I need to go now, or I'm gonna miss my bus. See you guys tomorrow!"

Swinging my bag over my shoulders, I give my friends a quick wave and scamper out of the classroom.

When I am safely away from prying eyes, my secret work routine activates.

First, I dart into the school gym and change out of my school uniform. Some basic home clothes will do, nothing too fancy. Next, I rush towards the bus stop. Bus 154 comes right on time and I manage to get on. The bus ride is forty minutes, which is just enough time for me to put on my make-up, remove my ponytail, and style my hair with a few squirts of hairspray. I even sneak a few bites of snacks to satisfy my growling stomach. At last, I reach my destination, all dolled up and ready for work.

Unlike what I have been telling everyone, the place I work at is not BreadTalk.

Instead, it is a place with bright neon decor and disco lights.

It is a place with music so loud that it drowns out the customers' lustful chatter, so loud that I can hear it one street down despite the soundproofed walls.

It is a place bustling with people looking for a good time—men in unbuttoned suits and women in tight dresses. Yes, that sort of good time.

The place I work at is a hostess bar masquerading as a karaoke bar.

I bustle through the back door of Tropic Falls Karaoke & Bar and head straight for the changing room.

"Cherry!" Two girls in tight, glittery dresses squeal in delight. "You're finally here!"

"Hey Mango, hey Sakura!" I greet. Those are not their real names, but we all go by tropical-themed code names here to protect our identities.

I quickly strip off my clothes and slip into the same dresses that my colleagues are wearing. Tight, glittery, low-cut, and short—my school's discipline master will get a heart attack if she ever sees anybody from school wearing this.

"Clementine says there's a bunch of newbies this week leh," Mango says as she puts on her disguise. The pastel yellow of her mask complements her long blonde hair. "They better tip well sia."

Sakura smacks her lips together in one last attempt to color them. Her lip gloss has the same shade as the pink mask above her nose. "Aiya, the tip doesn't matter lah. What matters is keeping them as regulars. That pays a lot better in the long run."

"Well, here's to doing both." I lift my crimson mask as if I were lifting a wine glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers!"

I press my mask to my face and step out of the changing room with Mango and Sakura. Darkness enshrouds the bar, while strobing lights fill my vision. A tall, tanned woman with bright blue hair arrives in front of us.

"There you guys are," Clementine says with a hand on her hip. Her strong American accent cuts through the noise of the bar. "Mango and Sakura, there are newbies in rooms five and nine. Cherry, your regular, Chan Chunseng, is in VIP room three. Come on now, chop-chop, get to work."

The three of us nod and scurry away.

My heart beats off my chest as I smooth my dress. It has been a month, but the job never gets easier. I have to do well though. As long as I work hard enough, as long as I get enough tips, I can earn enough money. And then, I can quit this job once and for all.

I just have to pull through these few months.

The door to VIP room three stands in front of me. I take in a deep breath and let it out shakily. Forcing out the biggest smile I can manage, I push open the door.

"Welcome back, Mr. Chan!"

---

Clementine leans forward at the bar table. "Hey, Cherry, you... swing that way too, right?"

I frown at my boss as I place a plate of empty glasses down. "What?"

"There's a rather..." —she considers her words— "unusual customer."

"What do you mean?"

Clementine's eyes fix on me as she taps her copper skin with her fingers. In the dimly lit bar area, her bright blue hair stands out against the shelves of liquor.

"Hm. Well, never mind, you'll find out when you get there." She waves her hand at me. "There's a newbie at VIP room one. Go go."

"Uh... Okay."

Casting a curious glance at Clementine, I grab a menu and head over to the VIP room.

What kind of customer is this newbie? And why was Clementine acting so strange about it? My boss does get a little antsy when it comes to first-time customers. After all, the main revenue for the bar is from regulars, especially those who have a favorite bargirl. Thus, making a good impression on newbies is paramount for us. But I have been working here for a month now, with a decent list of regulars under my belt, so why the unusual hesitation in Clementine's voice?

When I reach the room, I put on a large smile and push open the door.

"Welcome to Tropi—"

The words die in my throat.

The customer is a girl.

And that girl is RJ.