“Narine Fischer. You’re up.”
My stomach drops. Standing from my seat, I head down to the front of the lecture hall, aware of about 100 pairs of eyes on me. I pass Eva’s row, seeing her give me an encouraging smile I wish actually boosted my confidence.
Sol’s words hammer around inside of my head. The mantra to stay in control of myself forces me to remain as relaxed as possible.
As I step up to the long table at the front of the room and face my proctor, he sets a bowl down in front of me. There’s nothing in it, but next to it are rows and rows of herbs and different blends which can be put together in order to create something.