[hr]
[h2][center][b]Delia Hawkins
Santa Fe High School
2:00 PM[/b][/center][/h2]   
Delia didn’t want to be here. Santa Fe didn’t feel like her real alma mater, she graduated from it, but most of her formative experiences were back in Los Angeles. This was just a bunch of people she barely remembered here in one place. Frankly, she would’ve skipped it to, but they had rented some A/V equipment from her dad, and he didn’t trust the joke of an organizing committee to take care of it properly or know the details of the setup, so here she was, babysitting grown adults who seemed to have trouble understanding basic concepts like reading labels and plugging cords into the correct sockets. 

	They didn’t need constant attention, which meant Delia had to find something else to do to kill the time. She wasn’t looking out for anyone she knew, not really having kept in touch with any of her acquaintances from high school, instead keeping her head down and focused, standing in a corner. She was fiddling with what looked like a Gameboy, but was actually a small sequencer/synthesizer, the [url=https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJX8pMGNS12pwW0Oipiv5ERa5W3l2C3r4J0FX2xTicZsRuDgAks-d0EeCdK3MZboIsoaOGHrrzirpJw4Q6SWTE9JesJjXfti6ebN_Zd_2Cq7WUHdmO2YC5lhvrVO18BJ5v8ndxaPygL1iPxYsSnt4im__wKEzX1ua1rgJo_rWP56Nn8wLqPg=s600]Dirtywave M8[/url]; outside observers would judge her all the same, but it was slightly more mature than it looked. With one earbud, hidden beneath her hair, she could listen to her work but still hear the sounds of the party, though she filtered them out as best she could, preferring to focus on tweaking the timing of her breakbeats for the proper, glitched out sound.

	Her stomach began to growl so she walked up to the table with the chips. She dodged between people but saw one person she recognized, Wyatt Matthews. She didn’t know much about him except that his parents were loaded, which was reason enough for her to assume he was boring and not her kind of person. Oddly enough, he was dressed a lot differently than she remembered, no crisp, preppy clothes that looked like they had just come straight off the rack for him today. Delia grabbed the chips with one hand and kept her other on her synth, but dropped a couple and got the crumbs all over the table due to the difficulty of the maneuver. She tried to do what she had learned when practicing jazz piano, just pretend it never happened and keep on going, hope people don’t notice the mess.