Boychild & Girlchild.

desolate graveyard

The house held nothing for her. Olive was there strictly because he asked her to come; there was no fun behind this trip. Her heart beat – thumpthumpthump – and her brow allowed two beads of sticky, unladylike perspiration to form.

Bambambam. Music throbbed like her heartbeat. Pot was in the host’s bedroom, harder stuff in the sister's. Tempting.

The halls... there was no one aside from lingering couples. When would that boy be back with her drink again?
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not sure how desolate graveyard inspired that. it worked.