Michele Serros - Honey Blonde Chica

a novel by MICHELE SERROS

SIMON PULSE
New York London Toronto Sydney

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2006 by Alloy Entertainment and Michele Serros

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

SIMON PULSE and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Produced by Alloy Entertainment

Cover Design by Julian Peploe

Book Design by Amy Trombat

The text of this book was set in Electra.

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Simon Pulse edition June 2006

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Library of Congress Control Number 2005933889

eISBN 13: 978-1-4391-1610-4

ISBN 13: 978-1-4169-1591-1

To those who live sixty miles north

A big, special thanks to the following people for all your unconditional support: Renay Garcia (Crafty Chestnut); Beagan Wilcox (Brown Bellisma); Bunny (Big Sis Brunette) Peter Brooks (Legally Blonde); Naygrita (Naturally Negra); Luis Guereca (Sugarbeat Black); Amilcar Serrano (Guerrero Sunset); my agent Lydia Wills (Savvy Sistah Blonde); for Spanish help and friendship, cuzin Lacy (Bako Brown) and Ana Tolentino (Central Cali Carmel); for letting me write in your wonderful home upstate, Laura Simon (La Loca Rubia); and especially to my patient, patient editor, Lynn Weingarten, the OG Honey-Blonde!

1

Evie Gomez woke up on Saturday morning with two things on her mind. The first was that her best friend, Raquel Diaz, was definitely no longer just that, a best friend. Raquel had proven herself to be, as of 10:32 A.M. that late September morning, a 100 percent pinche beyachee. And why? Because after two weeks of no phone, no friends, basically no life, Evie wasnt under her mothers house arrest anymore for coming home a piddly-ass twenty (okay, maybe it was forty) minutes past her curfew. Her ankle bracelet had been officially clipped off, but did her girl Raquel bother to call so they could celebrate Evies first night of freedom? No. Raquel hadnt even had the decency to return any of Evies phone calls, text messages, or the desperate IMs Evie had sent to SexyMexy08. Raquel was no Sexy Mexy, Evie decided, but she was definitely a bitch.

The second thing Evie realized was how light her head felt. She ran her hand from the back of her neck and, yup, her long, dark brown hair was much shorter. All of it. She pushed up from her pillows and got a look at herself in her closet mirrorsher hair was now short, chopped in haphazard fashion with streaks of uneven blue. Cancn Blue No. 32 to be exact. But it should have been called Abuelita Azulita because it had come out the same exact blue tint you see on, well, abuelitas.

What had she done? She yanked down at the sides but they barely reached her shoulders. Who the hell cuts their own hair? Is this what happened to prisoners in solitary confinement? After being isolated from their peers for too long, did they eventually go mad and commit self-inflicted acts of hair assault with Ginghar craft scissors too? Evie looked hideous and she had no one to blame but yes, Raquel. It was her fault that Evie had gotten grounded in the first place. Raquel had insisted they go to Tracy Tankersons party two weeks ago. It was the first party on the first Friday of the new school year and Raquel promised shed have Evie home by her curfew. But, as Evie should have known, by the time it was time to leave, Raquel was just getting her drink on. There was no way she was gonna get Evie home by her curfew, and she didnt.

Evie glowered at the sight of her reflection. Why, why hadnt Raquel just called her back last night? As a best friend, she owed it to her. When nine oclock rolled around, it had become painfully obvious to Evie that she was going to spend another long night at home alone. And after clicking from one reality makeover show to the next, she realized it was she, not another midwestern housewife, who needed a change. She wanted something that demanded attention, respect. She wanted hair the color of the Cancn ocean! And thats how The Reinvention of Evie Gomez, Mex-treme Makeover, Friday Night Home Edition came to be.

But as of now, Saturday morning, it was sadly evident that she had truly lost her senses the night before. Her rookie dye job screamed beauty-school flunk-out. The bleach shed used to strip her brown wasnt dispersed as evenly as it should have been and now her head looked like a patchwork of beige, white, and blue, the national colors of whatever countrys flag was beige, white, and blue. She looked like crap.

What do you think, Meho? She toed her male tabby, nestled at the foot of her bed. Punk rock, or goth-metal dork? But Meho couldnt care less about her state of blue disrepair. He lifted up his hind leg and started to lick behind it.

Cla-see, Evie smirked as she gave him a slight tap with the rest of her foot.

She heard Lindsay, the Gomezs housekeeper, turn up the volume of El Mercadito on the kitchen radio downstairs. Other than that, the house was quiet. She was sure her father, Ruben Gomez, had left hours ago for one of his several panaderas and her mother, Vicki, was probably in the pool doing her obligatory fifty laps.

Evie pulled her Dean Miller sheets up to her chin and looked blankly up at the ceiling. From her sister, Sabrina, who took eighteen credits a semester while maintaining presidency of the most prestigious Latina sorority at Stanford University to big ol dopey Molesto (given name: Ernesto)the Gomezs black Labrador, who demanded his pre-poop walk around the perimeter of the block every morning at 6 A.M.the Gomezes were a very focused, ambitious family. They accentuated the Go in Gomez, all of them, that is except for Evie, who felt more of a personal connection to the lagging z as in Gomezzzzzzzz. She yawned, lifted her Roxy T, and scratched her belly. It was now 10:45 A.M. Yeah, she could sleep a little bit more and deal with las dilemas later.

Just then the buddy alert on her computer dinged, signaling to Evie that one of her online buddies was available to chat. Raquel? Finally.

Evie pushed off her blankets and went over to her desk. But it wasnt Raquel. It was Shaggy, who had already instant-messaged her.

ShaggyMA (10:46 AM): Hey, U up?

RioChica (10-.46 AM): Yup. U just wake up, too?

ShaggyMA (10:47 AM): No. Just got in from surfing. Did Dawn Patrol this morning. Crazy. Surfer magazine was there and took photos of us.

Evie felt jealous. Did everyone have a more exciting life than she did? During her period of home internment, she had met Shaggy via a chat room for MASA. No, not masa, as in dough, but MASA as in the Mexican-American Surfing Association. Evie hadnt even known such a thing existed, but ever since shed caught