The Academy--Chapter Seven, Continued

I saw that we had moved quite a distance away from my previous spot. Alastair sprinted back to his place in line– I watched until his black jacket blended back into the mass of teenagers and then turned around. Indeed, it was almost my turn to go into the calling house. The mess of feelings returned to my stomach. I felt nauseated. Another round of worries filled my brain, and for the millionth time, I wondered how I was going to get through this next difficulty.
“Poppy Bennett?” the guard at the door verified.
My eyes, previously trained to the concrete, came up. I realized with the slight breeze that tears dotted them.
“You’re next.”
I stepped through the door of the calling room with more reluctance than I had ever before possessed upon calling day. Slumping into the one chair in the middle of the room, I faced one wall with one single telephone, placed on its hook, connected to it. The entire room was only about five feet by seven feet. One counselor, one of the less-strict of them, strangely, stood to my right. She dialed the numbers of my home phone and handed the phone over to me, her expression blank.
I held the phone to my ear; I could hardly keep it from tumbling out of my shaky hands.
All thoughts inside my mind were momentarily put on pause. I felt a sudden chill and could hear my heart thud loudly in my ears. I held my breath until I heard a click on the other end, telling me that someone had answered.
“Poppy?”
I breathed out all of my sadness and nervousness and was filled with sudden joy at hearing my mother’s voice. I realized that I had missed her more these past few months than I ever had in all of my eight years at the Academy.
“Mom!” I exclaimed.
“Poppy! It’s so good to hear you!”she said. Her gentle voice, full of love and healing, had always brought me comfort each year on calling day, and did so even more on this day. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” I heard the catch in my own voice at the white lie, but ignored it. I truly was good, now, because I was talking to my mother. “How is everyone?”
“Poppy!” came Doren’s droll voice on the line.
“Doren!” I cried in utter joy. “My big brother, how are you? You’re eighteen, right? You’re so old!”
Out of the blue, I felt so at home in the calling room. I felt as if I was sitting on the couch in my small house, a fire roaring in the fireplace, and my family all around me. It was the best that I had felt in the past three or four months.