By: Izzy Cheung, Staff Writer I sit down at the table, its surface cold against my trembling hands. The smooth papers rustle beneath my palms, my fingers pressing deep wrinkles into the material. I shouldn’t be nervous — I’ve gone over every scenario in my mind and prepared myself for any possibility. I’ve studied this for years, and I know that I’m qualified. But as I stare across the table, at the face that I know will be judging me more than I’ve ever been judged in my entire life, I know that my nerves are justified. His stare is…
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