The Imperfect Whistles of the Wind

two

When the high wore off and she found herself lying on the uncomfortable metal quad bench, Aven trudged heavy-footed to her locker spinning the dial with great ease and precision for someone who was still immersed in thought.

"Aven Scott ditching school? Shit, I guess hell has frozen over."

Aven spun around and found herself face to face with Shiloh Burke, Edmund Vivaldi High's renowned student artist, and a skilled one at that. Two years prior, Shiloh moved to San Jose from Jamaica and she'd taken Vivaldi by storm. She was known for the mural she'd commisioned in the Science department hallway, and her smart mouth that never ceased to say exactly what she meant, when she meant to say it. She was definitely unlike anyone in the school, with braids that fell down to her lower back and her silver nose ring. Rather than hiding, Shiloh embraced it - flaunted it even - which was something that Aven had always envied her for.

"Or I've grown tired of everyone and everything." Aven said, as she turned back towards her locker and shoved her Physics textbook into her bag.

Shiloh came closer and began leaning on the locker to the left of Aven's. "Listen, I heard about the...you know..."

Aven groaned in response. "Oh God, I can't do this." She muttered under her breath, trying to keep her composure.

"I know this is probably a stressful and traumatic time for you, and I've heard you quit dance, but there's something that can help you cope with the...uh -"

"Rape!" Aven slammed her fist against her locker, and bellowed at the top of her lungs. Her voice echoed down the empty hallway. "I was raped! What is it with you people, that you can't pronounce a simple word? Its four letters, for Christ's sake. One syllable. It's not that damn hard." She turned back to her locker sharply, and began packing her bag at a faster pace.

Shiloh was quiet, watching her stuff textbook after textbook into her already full bag.

Aven slammed her locker shut and turned to face Shiloh, shooting her an expectant look.

"Here." Shiloh said handing her a flyer, still assessing whether it was safe to speak. "I know this isn't exactly your style but..." She tugged on one of her braids, as she trailed off.

The flyer was bright orange, and at the very top in bold, 48-point Comic Sans read 'SWIM: Students with Mental Illnesses'. Below was clip art of a beaker and a subtitle that read 'Improve through the support of your peers!'

"You want me to go to group therapy?" Aven said slowly, her voice cracking on the last word.

Shiloh shook her head violently. "Not group therapy, it's more like...a club. But for teenagers with mental illnesses."

"Okay I get it, you want me to go to your pseudo mental therapy club. Much better, thanks for clarifying." Aven adjusted her bag on her shoulder and began to make her way down the hallway.

"God dammit, wait!" Shiloh caught up to her, blocking her path. "Just hear me out for a sec, alright?"

Aven glanced at the clock. 2:15. She could waste five more minutes here and still catch the bus. "Fine." She said. "Show me what you've got."

Shiloh smiled and cleared her throat. "It's really simple, actually. You joining SWIM is a win-win situation. You get to add an extracurricular to your recently barren applications. And for me, I get Aven Scott, the renowned golden girl, in my program." She raised an eyebrow. "So you in?"

Aven sighed and thought on a lot of things. "Yeah, you're totally right Shiloh, universities will be throwing themselves at my feet once they see 'mental illness club listed on my applications, great thinking."