AQA GCSE English Language 8700/1 - Explorations in creative ...

Mark Scheme

Introduction

The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.

Level of response marking instructions

Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.

You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.

Step 1 Determine a level

Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.

Step 2 Determine a mark

Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.

Advice for Examiners

In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.

1. Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
2. Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
3. Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
4. Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
5. If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

• Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
• Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.

AO2

• Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.

AO3

• Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.

AO4

• Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

• Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
• Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.

AO6

• Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]

Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).

• 1.1 What did Silas place on the floor near the loom?: the candle – 1 mark
• 1.2 What did Silas sweep away?: the sand – 1 mark
• 1.3 What did Silas remove at this point?: the bricks – 1 mark
• 1.4 What made Silas’s heart leap violently?: the sight of the empty hole – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 1 to 15 of the source:

1 He rose and placed his candle unsuspectingly on the floor near his loom, swept away the sand without noticing any change, and removed the bricks. The sight of the empty hole made his heart leap violently, but the belief that his gold was gone could not come at once—only terror, and the eager effort to put an end to the terror. He passed his trembling hand all about the hole, trying to

6 think it possible that his eyes had deceived him; then he held the candle in the hole and examined it curiously, trembling more and more. At last he shook so violently that he let fall the candle, and lifted his hands to his head, trying to steady himself, that he might think. Had he put his gold somewhere else, by a sudden resolution last night, and then forgotten it? A man falling

11 into dark waters seeks a momentary footing even on sliding stones; and Silas, by acting as if he believed in false hopes, warded off the moment of despair. He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; he looked in his brick oven where he laid his sticks. When there was no other place to be searched, he kneeled down again and felt once more all round

How does the writer use language here to describe Silas’s fear and frantic search? You could include the writer’s choice of:

• words and phrases
• language features and techniques
• sentence forms.

[8 marks]

Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)

Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively analyse how visceral verb choices and tactile imagery—heart leap violently, trembling hand, shook so violently, kneaded—together with the drowning metaphor A man falling into dark waters seeks a momentary footing even on sliding stones, externalise Silas’s panic and denial. It would also explore sentence forms and structure: the cumulative listing and polysyndeton in He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; mirroring his relentless, chaotic movement; the dash and repetition in only terror, and the eager effort to put an end to the terror, the rhetorical question Had he put his gold somewhere else...?, and the symbolic lapse let fall the candle, showing fear tipping into despair.

The writer uses visceral physical imagery and intensifiers to dramatise Silas’s fear. The sight of the “empty hole made his heart leap violently,” a metaphor that externalises panic as a sudden bodily jolt. Repetition of trembling (“his trembling hand,” “trembling more and more”) creates escalation, while the resultative structure “he shook so violently that he let fall the candle” shows terror tipping into loss of control. The dropped “candle” also symbolises reason and reassurance slipping into darkness, reinforcing his alarm as he “lifted his hands to his head… that he might think,” suggesting thought is being overwhelmed by shock.

Furthermore, Eliot exploits repetition and punctuation to convey frantic urgency. The dash in “could not come at once—only terror” mimics a mental lurch, and the epizeuxis of “terror… terror” foregrounds obsessive fear. Personification in “his eyes had deceived him” implies he can no longer trust his senses, intensifying his agitation as he tries to verify reality.

Moreover, the extended metaphor of drowning amplifies desperation: “A man falling into dark waters seeks a momentary footing even on sliding stones.” The sibilance in “sliding stones” evokes slipperiness, while “momentary footing” captures the futility of grasping at “false hopes.” The verb “warded off” draws on a martial semantic field, suggesting he is fighting despair as if it were an assailant.

Additionally, cumulative syntax and polysyndetic listing render the frantic search: “He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; he looked…” The dense cluster of dynamic verbs, especially the unexpected “kneaded,” implies compulsive, almost violent handling. Finally, the cyclical adverbials “again” and “once more” and the clause “no other place to be searched” convey exhaustive, panicked repetition, immersing the reader in Silas’s fear-driven frenzy.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses powerful verbs and repetition of physical reactions—heart leap violently, trembling, shook so violently—to show escalating panic, and the rhetorical question Had he put his gold somewhere else, by a sudden resolution last night, and then forgotten it? reveals his confused, grasping thoughts. The simile A man falling into dark waters seeks a momentary footing even on sliding stones conveys desperation, while the long, cumulative listing with semicolons—searched in every corner, turned his bed over, kneaded it—mirrors his frantic, exhaustive search.

The writer uses emotive language and personification to present Silas’s immediate fear. His heart “leap[s] violently” and his hand is “trembling”, suggesting shock he cannot control. The adverb “violently” stresses the intensity of his shock. The repetition of “terror” and the phrase “the eager effort to put an end to the terror” show fear dominating his thoughts and propelling him into action. The repetition “more and more” in “trembling more and more” signals rising panic.

Moreover, Eliot creates a metaphor: “A man falling into dark waters...” This drowning image conveys suffocating panic, while “momentary footing” and “sliding stones” imply unstable, short‑lived hope, mirroring his frantic but futile search. The sibilance in “sliding stones” emphasises slipperiness.

Additionally, dynamic verbs and cumulative listing build pace: he “searched in every corner… turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; he looked in his brick oven”. The repeated openings (“he… he…”) and long sentence reflect relentless movement. The rhetorical question “Had he put his gold somewhere else…?” exposes desperate reasoning, while the dash in “—only terror” foregrounds fear. Together, these choices clearly depict Silas’s fear and frantic search.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might identify strong word choices and an image: the writer shows Silas’s fear with phrases like heart leap violently, the repetition trembling more and more, and shook so violently, while the image A man falling into dark waters suggests his desperation. It might also notice the list of actions searched in every corner... turned his bed over... and kneaded it and the long, linked sentence (with a semicolon) to show his frantic, continuous search.

Firstly, the writer uses metaphor and descriptive words to show fear. The phrase “heart leap violently” suggests shock and panic, and his “trembling hand” shows his body reacting. The repetition of “trembling… trembling more and more” builds the anxiety.

Furthermore, the simile/image “A man falling into dark waters” compares Silas to someone drowning, which makes his fear seem overwhelming as he “seeks a momentary footing”.

Additionally, the list of verbs in “He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it” shows a frantic search. The repeated “and” makes his actions feel rushed and breathless.

Moreover, the rhetorical question “Had he put his gold somewhere else…?” shows his confusion. The dash in “could not come at once—only terror” highlights how fear hits him suddenly, linking to the idea of a frantic search.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses words like "trembling hand", "shook so violently" and "terror" to show Silas is very scared and panicking. The simile about "falling into dark waters" and the list of actions like "searched in every corner" show his desperate, frantic search.

The writer uses strong verbs and adverbs to show fear: his “heart leap violently”, his “trembling hand”, and he “shook so violently”. This makes the reader see he is very scared. Furthermore, there is repetition of the word “terror” and the comparison “A man falling into dark waters”, which shows panic and despair. Moreover, the long list of actions, “He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it”, shows a frantic search. Additionally, the question “Had he put his gold somewhere else?” shows confusion.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:

• Violent bodily reaction makes fear immediate and visceral for the reader (heart leap violently)
• Dash and repetition break the flow to foreground panic overpowering reason (—only terror)
• Intensifying adverbs and repetition show escalating loss of control (trembling more and more)
• Sensory doubt conveys denial, as he resists believing the reality (eyes had deceived him)
• Rhetorical question exposes desperate self-reassurance amid confusion (Had he put his gold)
• Extended simile of drowning captures precarious, fleeting hope in engulfing fear (falling into dark waters)
• Polysyndetic listing and long clauses mimic breathless, exhaustive searching (and shook it, and kneaded it)
• Early calm adverb contrasts with later panic, sharpening the sudden shift into fear (unsuspectingly)
• Light imagery suggests attempts at clarity against surrounding threat and uncertainty (held the candle)
• Circular return to the hole emphasizes futility and mounting despair (once more all round)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the middle of a novel.

How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of urgency?

You could write about:

• how urgency intensifies from beginning to end
• how the writer uses structure to create an effect
• the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]

Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)

Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively trace urgency intensifying across the whole extract: the focus widens from the hole to the cottage to the storm outside, with pacing signalled by 'At last', 'Again', 'And now', cumulative listing ('He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it'), and the contrast between 'stood motionless' and 'He rushed out in the rain'. It would pinpoint the structural turning point where interior panic becomes pursuit—through pressing questions ('footsteps? When had the thief come?') and decisive naming ('Jem Rodney was the man—there was ease in the thought')—culminating in 'He ran swiftly', so the whole-text progression from disbelief to action creates urgency.

One way in which the writer structures the extract to generate urgency is by opening in medias res with the shock of loss and then accelerating through cumulative, polysyndetic listing and parallel clauses. The sight of “the empty hole” precipitates frantic, repeated actions: “He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; he looked…” This paratactic flow, reinforced by anaphora of “he,” creates a breathless rhythm. Incremental repetition (“again,” “once more”) shows options vanishing, while jolting short sentences—“The table was bare”—puncture hope. This pattern of brief hope followed by swift negation compresses time and sharpens alarm, immersing the reader in his urgency.

In addition, a sustained third-person limited viewpoint with free indirect discourse intensifies pace by crowding the narrative with interior interrogatives. “Had he put his gold somewhere else?” and “When had the thief come?” enact a mind racing ahead of events. Shifts in temporal focus (“last night,” “during… daytime,” “in the evening, too,” and the deictic “now”) produce rapid temporal scanning. A syntactic interruption—“—footsteps?”—fractures the line, quickening pace and signalling darting attention. Thus, structural flickers and questions trap us in his panicked present.

A further structural turn heightens urgency as the text pivots from inward tumult to outward motion. The scream is the hinge; afterward verbs accelerate: he “started,” “opened,” “rushed,” “ran swiftly.” The focus zooms out to suspects and authorities—“Jem Rodney… the clergyman, the constable, and Squire Cass”—a climactic list that channels desperation. Pathetic fallacy (“the rain… more and more heavily”) mirrors pressure, and the final approach to “the Rainbow” holds the action on a threshold, sustaining momentum and compelling the reader to press on.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain that the writer structures urgency through escalation: repeated, panicked actions ("he searched in every corner", "Again he put his trembling hands to his head") and time markers like "At last" and "For a few moments after" tighten the sequence, while abrupt questions ("footsteps?") jolt the pace. This builds from inner turmoil to outward action, with a turning point at the "wild ringing scream" and a final shift into pursuit ("He rushed out in the rain"), so the reader feels panic transforming into haste.

One way in which the writer structures the passage to create urgency is the escalation from shocked disbelief to frantic searching. After the empty hole, the narrative tracks a cumulative sequence: “He searched in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it...” Repeated clause openings and listing compress time and quicken the pace, mirroring panic. Short beats like “The table was bare.” punctuate the flow, jolting the reader and intensifying the pressure to find the gold.

In addition, the writer manipulates focus and time. Temporal markers (“At last”, “Then”, “For a few moments”) control rhythm; the brief pause when he “stood motionless” is swiftly replaced by a barrage of rhetorical questions: “When had the thief come?... Was it a thief...?” This rapid refocusing—from hole, to table, to the whole cottage—creates restless movement, so the reader shares Silas’s racing, unstable thoughts.

A further structural choice is the shift from interior crisis to exterior pursuit. Opening the door to worsening rain widens the setting, and verbs like “rushed” and “ran swiftly” accelerate the ending towards a mini climax. The final end focus on the “turning close to the Rainbow” delays resolution and propels us forward. The sustained close perspective keeps the urgency personal, while contrast between stillness and sudden action sharpens it.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 answer might say the urgency builds as the focus shifts from repeated searching to action: he is trembling and searched in every corner, then a wild ringing scream and the short footsteps? show panic, before the pace quickens as he rushed out in the rain and ran swiftly.

One way the writer builds urgency is by opening with a tight focus on Silas’s frantic searching, moving in a quick sequence. At the beginning he “passed his trembling hand” and then a list of actions—“searched in every corner… turned his bed over… kneaded it”—speeds the pace. Repetition of “trembling” shows his panic rising.

In addition, questions and short sentences increase urgency. Rhetorical questions like “Had he put his gold somewhere else?” and “When had the thief come?” show racing thoughts, while “The table was bare.” gives a sudden, final shock.

A further structural feature is the shift from inner panic to outward action at the end. After the middle scream and the idea of “a thief”, the focus moves outside into the rain, and he “rushed out”, which makes the ending the most urgent point.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start the writer shows panic and confusion with the empty hole and repeated searching like He searched in every corner, and the quick questions such as footsteps? to make it feel urgent. It then builds to a climax with the short shock of The table was bare, a wild ringing scream, and finally action as He rushed out in the rain and He ran swiftly, so the urgency increases towards the end.

One way the writer creates urgency is by listing actions. He 'searched in every corner... turned his bed... looked in his brick oven.' This list speeds the pace and feels rushed.

In addition, the writer uses a short sentence and questions. 'The table was bare.' Then questions like 'When had the thief come?' These features make the moment jumpy and show his urgent panic.

A further way is a change to action at the end. After 'a few moments' he gets 'new strength' and the focus moves to running: 'rushed out... He ran swiftly.' This makes it urgent.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:

• Opening with immediate shock front-loads the crisis before belief can form, thrusting the reader into panic (empty hole)
• Iterative, exhaustive searching piles action upon action to quicken pace and anxiety (He searched in every corner)
• Temporal markers compress time and build to a physical crescendo of loss of control (At last)
• Options close down step by step, tightening the noose as hope disappears (no untried refuge left)
• A brief reflective simile pauses action yet intensifies desperation by framing his mental scramble (falling into dark waters)
• A scream-and-stillness pivot resets the rhythm, releasing pressure then sharpening focus (wild ringing scream)
• Return to the loom anchors reality, a structural checkpoint before the next surge of action (assurance of reality)
• Introducing a concrete culprit shifts from paralysis to purposeful pursuit, injecting forward momentum (a thief might be caught)
• Rapid-fire rhetorical questions accelerate thought, mirroring breathless, urgent reasoning (When had the thief come?)
• Expansion to the hostile outside and a decisive exit drive the climax into immediate action (rushed out in the rain)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 31 to the end.

In this part of the source, Silas’s desperate searching of the empty hole makes him seem irrational. The writer suggests his shock is so great that he can’t accept the truth of his loss.

To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of how the hyena behaves
• comment on the methods the writer uses to present the hyena
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response perceptively evaluates the writer’s viewpoint, largely agreeing that Silas’s shock makes him irrational while qualifying that his denial is psychologically coherent, using integrated evidence such as the self-contradictory 'there were no footsteps...—footsteps?', his retreat from a 'cruel power' to a 'robber with hands', and dissociated actions like 'forgetting to cover his head' and moving 'as if he had nothing left to lose'. It would analyse how methods—rhetorical questioning, antithesis, and free indirect style in 'instinctively seeking...assurance of reality' and 'he entertained it eagerly'—dramatise the 'first maddening pressure of the truth', showing he clings to the catchable thief to avoid accepting his loss.

I largely agree that Silas’s behaviour appears irrational because shock prevents him from accepting his loss; however, the writer also presents his denial as a desperate attempt to reclaim agency. From the outset, the narrative focalises Silas’s stunned consciousness: his “cry” has only “relieved him from the first maddening pressure of the truth,” and he “tottered” back to his loom, “instinctively seeking this as the strongest assurance of reality.” The adverb “instinctively” and the abstract noun “assurance” suggest a mind scrambling for something tangible, signalling that acceptance is not yet possible.

As the “false hopes” ebb, he “entertained” the idea of a thief “eagerly.” That evaluative adverb exposes a grasping need rather than cool reasoning. The writer’s use of rhetorical questions and free indirect discourse—“footsteps? When had the thief come?”—mimics Silas’s fractured thought processes. Pathetic fallacy intensifies the futility: “the rain beat in upon him … There were no footsteps to be tracked on such a night,” so the very weather symbolically erases the evidence he craves. Even when observation undercuts the theft theory—“the sand and bricks looked as if they had not been moved”—he presses on. This stubbornness reads as irrational, but it is also psychologically coherent: a thief “might be caught,” a modal verb of possibility that offers agency.

The writer sharpens the contrast between rational and irrational explanations through a striking binary: a “robber with hands” versus a “cruel power that no hands could reach.” The repeated lexis of “hands” forms a semantic field of touch and reachability, revealing Silas’s hunger for what can be grasped. He “shrinks” from the “vaguer dread” and “fixed his mind” on the thief, a verb of determined focus that feels like willed self-deception. His suspicion of Jem Rodney rests on flimsy pretexts—“jestingly” talking about money, “lingering at the fire”—and yet “there was ease in the thought,” a succinct clause that exposes denial as comfort. Metaphor amplifies the existential shock: losing the gold has left his “soul like a forlorn traveller on an unknown desert,” a simile that justifies why he clings to any path, however implausible.

Finally, the structural shift from rumination to action culminates in impulsive flight: he “rushed out in the rain,” “forgetting to cover his head,” “not caring to fasten his door.” The tricolon of village authorities—“the clergyman, the constable, and Squire Cass”—and his “confused” ideas of law underline naïve, almost magical expectations that “would make” someone restore the money.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer crafts Silas as irrational in the immediacy of shock, unable to accept the loss. Yet this irrationality is framed empathetically as a trauma response—denial that is less folly than an urgent bid for control in a reality that has suddenly become ungraspable.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would mostly agree that the writer presents Silas as irrational from shock, citing frantic rhetorical questions like "footsteps? When had the thief come?" and his denial in clinging to a catchable culprit—"he entertained it eagerly", "fixed his mind... on the robber with hands"—instead of the "vaguer dread". It would support this with methods and actions (pathetic fallacy in "the rain beat in upon him", impulsivity in "rushed out in the rain... forgetting to cover his head") while noting a brief attempt at reason in naming "Jem Rodney".

I largely agree that Silas’s behaviour makes him seem irrational, and that his shock is so overpowering he cannot accept the finality of his loss. Even after his “cry had relieved him from the first maddening pressure,” the writer shows his disorientation through verbs like “tottered” and “instinctively,” as he retreats to his loom for “assurance of reality.” This suggests a mind grasping at routines to deny what has happened.

The writer’s use of fragmented punctuation and rhetorical questions exposes his refusal to accept the truth. Opening the door to “rain” that erases evidence is a kind of pathetic fallacy, yet he still thinks of “footsteps? When had the thief come?” The dash and interrogatives mirror his fractured thoughts, implying that logic can’t settle his panic. He then “entertained [the idea of a thief] eagerly,” not because it is proven, but because “a thief might be caught.” This is evaluative denial: he chooses the explanation that keeps hope alive.

Eliot contrasts a terrifying, “vaguer dread” of a “cruel power” with the “robber with hands” he can “reach by hands.” The concrete image calms him, so he fixes on Jem Rodney for flimsy reasons—“lingering at the fire,” a jest about money—showing scapegoating rather than reason. The phrase “there was ease in the thought” explicitly shows self-soothing. The simile “his soul like a forlorn traveller on an unknown desert” conveys the depth of his desolation, intensifying why he clings to restitution. Structurally, the narrative shifts from inward confusion to sudden action: he “rushed out in the rain… forgetting to cover his head… not caring to fasten his door.” Such impulsive details emphasise shock overriding judgement, even as he takes a seemingly rational step to “proclaim his loss” to “the clergyman…the constable…Squire Cass.”

Overall, I mostly agree: Silas cannot accept the truth that the gold is gone, so he grasps at a catchable thief. Yet the move to seek authority hints at a tentative return to reason within his overwhelming shock.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would agree to some extent, picking straightforward evidence like "tottered towards his loom", "rushed out in the rain", and "forgetting to cover his head" to show Silas’s shock and slightly irrational behaviour. It would add a simple methods point that the verbs and the image "a forlorn traveller on an unknown desert" (and how he "entertained it eagerly" instead of facing a "cruel power") suggest he clings to the idea of a thief because he can’t accept the loss.

I mostly agree that Silas seems irrational because his shock is so strong he can’t accept the loss. At the start of this part, he “tottered towards his loom,” “instinctively seeking” it as “assurance of reality.” The verb “tottered” shows he is dazed, and going to the loom suggests denial: he needs something solid to prove the world is still the same.

The writer then shows his mind racing. He “entertained [the idea of] a thief eagerly, because a thief might be caught.” The adverb “eagerly” implies he grabs at any hope. The rhetorical questions—“footsteps? When had the thief come?”—make his thoughts sound confused and desperate. There is also a contrast between a “robber with hands” and a “cruel power that no hands could reach.” This personification of a “cruel power” shows a frightening, vague explanation, which he quickly “shrinks” from. The repetition of “hands” suggests he needs a cause he can touch and fight, showing he can’t accept a loss he can’t fix.

His suspicions of Jem Rodney feel irrational: Jem once “lingered at the fire” and joked, so Silas decides “Jem Rodney was the man.” This flimsy evidence shows he just wants someone to blame. The simile “his soul like a forlorn traveller on an unknown desert” explains why he acts rashly. Finally, he “rushed out in the rain… forgetting to cover his head, not caring to fasten his door.” These frantic verbs and details show panic ruling him.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: while he takes a practical step to “proclaim his loss,” the writer mainly presents a man so shocked that he clings to any fixable story rather than accept the truth.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree because he seems shocked and not thinking straight: he clings to a robber with hands, his ideas of legal authority were confused, and he rushed out in the rain, forgetting to cover his head. This makes him look irrational and unable to accept the loss.

I mostly agree with the statement: Silas seems irrational and in shock, trying to find explanations instead of accepting the loss. After his “cry,” he “tottered” to his loom, “instinctively seeking this as the strongest assurance of reality.” The verb “tottered” and this imagery show he is unsteady and needs proof.

Even when “the first shock of certainty was past,” he clings to a thief because “a thief might be caught.” The writer uses rhetorical questions — “footsteps? When had the thief come?” — to show confused, racing thoughts. He even mentions a “cruel power that no hands could reach” and “shrank” from it; this is personification and shows fear of the truth.

He quickly blames Jem Rodney; “there was ease in the thought,” so he prefers a simple answer. At the end he acts without sense, as he “rushed out in the rain,” forgetting to cover his head or fasten his door. These action verbs show desperation and panic.

Overall, I agree that Silas’s shock makes him seem irrational, and he can’t accept the truth of his loss, so he hopes a thief will restore the gold.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward. Note: Reference to methods and explicit “I agree/I disagree” may be implicit and still credited according to quality.

AO4 content may include the evaluation of ideas and methods such as:

• Narratorial framing of his mental state → supports the view he is irrationally denying reality without being insane → "distinct from madness"
• Repetition of frantic checking around the room → conveys denial-driven compulsion that makes him seem irrational → "The table was bare"
• Raw vocal outburst as emotional overflow → shows shock overwhelming reason in the moment → "wild ringing scream"
• Diction of near-derangement → implies he skirts reason under the impact of loss, intensifying the sense of irrational shock → "maddening pressure of the truth"
• Retreat to the loom as a reality-check → nuances the claim by showing a rational impulse beneath the shock → "assurance of reality"
• Flurry of rhetorical questions and failed deductions → dramatizes a mind circling denial and grasping for certainties → "When had the thief come?"
• Personified, supernatural alternative cause → reveals irrational leanings under trauma before he forces himself back to the tangible → "a cruel power"
• Eagerly seizing a convenient suspect → shows need for control rather than evidence, a denial-led rationalisation → "there was ease in the thought"
• Impulsive dash into the storm, neglecting basics → embodies shock-led behaviour over reasoned planning → "forgetting to cover his head"
• Confused recourse to authority yet purposeful action → suggests he is shaken but not unhinged, tempering the extent of his irrationality → "ideas of legal authority were confused"

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

On Friday evening, your club will place a small booklet on the counter with members’ creative writing about sport, and your piece will be included.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a rain-washed tennis court from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a rivalry on court.

(24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

(24 marks for content and organisation • 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

Question 5 (AO5) – Content & Organisation (24 marks)

Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively; organise information and ideas to support coherence and cohesion. Levels and typical features follow AQA’s SAMs grid for descriptive/narrative writing. Use the Level 4 → Level 1 descriptors for content and organisation, distinguishing Upper/Lower bands within Levels 4–3–2.

• Level 4 (19–24 marks) Upper 22–24: Convincing and compelling; assured register; extensive and ambitious vocabulary; varied and inventive structure; compelling ideas; fluent paragraphing with seamless discourse markers.

Lower 19–21: Convincing; extensive vocabulary; varied and effective structure; highly engaging with developed complex ideas; consistently coherent paragraphs.

• Level 3 (13–18 marks) Upper 16–18: Consistently clear; register matched; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary and phrasing; effective structural features; engaging, clear connected ideas; coherent paragraphs with integrated markers.

Lower 13–15: Generally clear; vocabulary chosen for effect; usually effective structure; engaging with connected ideas; usually coherent paragraphs.

• Level 2 (7–12 marks) Upper 10–12: Some sustained success; some sustained matching of register/purpose; conscious vocabulary; some devices; some structural features; increasing variety of linked ideas; some paragraphs and markers.

Lower 7–9: Some success; attempts to match register/purpose; attempts to vary vocabulary; attempts structural features; some linked ideas; attempts at paragraphing with markers.

• Level 1 (1–6 marks) Upper 4–6: Simple communication; simple awareness of register/purpose; simple vocabulary/devices; evidence of simple structural features; one or two relevant ideas; random paragraphing.

Lower 1–3: Limited communication; occasional sense of audience/purpose; limited or no structural features; one or two unlinked ideas; no paragraphs.

Level 0: Nothing to reward. NB: If a candidate does not directly address the focus of the task, cap AO5 at 12 (top of Level 2).

Question 5 (AO6) – Technical Accuracy (16 marks)

Students must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation.

• Level 4 (13–16): Consistently secure demarcation; wide range of punctuation with high accuracy; full range of sentence forms; secure Standard English and complex grammar; high accuracy in spelling, including ambitious vocabulary; extensive and ambitious vocabulary.

• Level 3 (9–12): Mostly secure demarcation; range of punctuation mostly successful; variety of sentence forms; mostly appropriate Standard English; generally accurate spelling including complex/irregular words; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary.

• Level 2 (5–8): Mostly secure demarcation (sometimes accurate); some control of punctuation range; attempts variety of sentence forms; some use of Standard English; some accurate spelling of more complex words; varied vocabulary.

• Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.

• Level 0: Spelling, punctuation, etc., are sufficiently poor to prevent understanding or meaning.

Model Answers

The following model answers demonstrate both AO5 (Content & Organisation) and AO6 (Technical Accuracy) at each level. Each response shows the expected standard for both assessment objectives.

• Level 4 Upper (22-24 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 35-40 marks total)

Option A:

The rain has rinsed the court to a hush and a shine; even the net seems to breathe. Bottle-green turned satin, the chalk-white lines dissolve into shallow mirrors that swallow the sky. Droplets pearl along the cable, each bead a world, tremulous, ready to fall. Beyond, the chain-link shimmers, its lattice doubled in the puddles. The smell rises—petrichor and rubber, a metallic tang from wet wire—and the air is cool enough to press against the skin.

The puddles congregate where play is fiercest: service boxes sink into soft continents, fringed with grit like shorelines on a private atlas. A leaf ferries itself across an eddy, stubborn and sodden. On the far side, the umpire’s chair (vacant, rain-beaded) leans; a lone ball, fur darkened, nests against the post, a mute sun gone to seed. Everything is doubled—sky underfoot, fence below horizon, my silhouette briefly stitched to a line before a ripple unthreads it. At the gate, the latch ticks in the breeze, a metronome with nothing to count.

Listen: this is a theatre of small sounds: the tap—tap—tap from the corrugated clubhouse roof; the fat drop’s plink as it punctures a perfect circle; the pleading sough of wind through chain-link teeth. Distant traffic murmurs like surf. Yet under this quiet stands the muscle-memory of the place, coiled and ready. Ghost steps squeak; phantom shouts tally scores; the old cadence—love, fifteen, thirty—crosses the court without a breath. The net, slack-shouldered, is a tired referee.

Up close, the paint is not bone-white but feathered with algae where water worries the edge; a hairline crack forks across the baseline like a pale vein. An acorn cap sits at deuce; a worm writes calligraphy until a drop erases the flourish. Grit crackles faintly underfoot; a shallow crater records the last impatient pivot, half-dissolved by rain. The surface yields, faintly tacky, to a fingertip; cold leaches into hand and spine. Even the air has texture—a fine drizzle hanging like gauze.

Then a pale blade of sun prises the cloud. Steam lifts, and the puddles flare with iridescence; the net’s black filament glitters as though threaded with salt. Colours revise themselves: green deepens to bottle-glass, whites harden to porcelain. A gull loops overhead, reflected twice—sky and floor—and for an instant the court is an amphitheatre for light. It is almost gaudy, almost too polished, and yet it holds its breath.

Soon, soles will squeal and balls will clap and chalk-dust—no, paint-dust—will rise in brief halos. Lines will govern again; arguments will bloom and fade; muscles will relearn their geometry. For now, the rain-washed court waits, calm, precise, self-possessed, a stage between storms, a quiet promise laid flat and shining.

Option B:

Centre court. A rectangle of bruise-blue bounded by chalk-white laws, the net drawn tight as a held breath. The stands hum, then hush; the air smells of warm rubber and sun-soft strings. A theatre for precision, panic, and beautifully disguised grudges.

I cradle the ball, feel its nap against my palm. One bounce, two, three—my metronome. Across the net, Leon bounces in sync; of course he does. We’ve always been mirror and echo, two hands on one clock, arguing over who keeps time.

We started on the municipal courts by the swimming baths, floodlights sputtering, asphalt blistered from winters we couldn’t name. We chalked lines with a brick; a rope sagged for a net. He lent me grip tape; I showed him that biting crosscourt. When did trading become hoarding? Perhaps the county final—breath steaming, rain needling—when my backhand kissed the line and he said, ‘Out.’ White dust spat. I didn’t challenge. I swallowed, and the swallow hardened to stone.

Coaches judged. Parents hovered. Messages were left unread, then unsent. He switched academies; I did too—pride or principle, who can tell at seventeen? Our names began to arrive paired on draw sheets like a warning.

‘Time,’ the umpire calls, voice neutral as cloud. ‘Love all.’ The word lands wrong; love is the one thing we cannot count. The crowd exhales. Somewhere, a camera clicks—insistent, insectile. I adjust strings that don’t need adjusting.

Breathe in, let go. Bounce-bounce-bounce. Toss. The ball climbs and hangs. I hit up and through; the sound is a clean crack, a door flung open. Wide to his backhand, calculated. He is already there. His reply is a slice that skims the tape. We trade; geometry unspools: crosscourt, line, step in, retreat. Our feet squeak and scrape, writing a transcript no one else can read.

Across that taut net—border, truce, teeth—his eyes meet mine for a shard of a second, and the past flickers: lukewarm squash, jokes warped by wind, a trophy we lifted together because one trophy was kinder than two. He wants to break me; I want to unmake him, point by point. The most ruthless victories hardly raise their voices.

I knife a backhand down the line. He guesses crosscourt, commits, slips. The ball pours into open space. Applause begins—staccato, then steady. ‘Fifteen love,’ says the umpire. The number is small; the word is not. I bounce again and feel the old echo fracture.

• Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)

Option A:

The court holds its breath under a low, pewter sky. The green has darkened to bottle-glass; the surface looks lacquered, as though a careful hand has varnished every line. The net sags, a tired hammock threaded with small pearls. White markings, once loud, now glow softly—bones beneath skin; arrows without urgency. Nobody is here. Only water collects itself, learning the boundaries, patient as a referee.

In the hollows, puddles have pooled: round, oval, ragged at the edges. They mirror the chain-link fence and the bare trees beyond; a small tremor from the breeze sends the reflections wrinkling, as if the world itself is unsure. A single leaf is welded to the baseline. Beyond the wire, tyres hiss on wet road; closer, there is only the drip, drip, drip from the umpire’s chair and the soft hiss of rain finishing what it started; the air smells of wet tarmac and cold leaf.

The place wears the ghost of other afternoons. Scuffs arc at the service box like smiles that faded; a pale skid interrupts the tramline, arrested mid-sprint. You can almost hear the quick squeak of soles, the dry pop of a ball, the rustle of applause; except there is no sound now, just water tapping its patient rhythm. Even the scoreboard is blank, panes filmed with rain, its numbers turned away: love-all, the simple honesty of it, reset and waiting.

Beads gather on the net cord until gravity insists; they descend one by one, ringing the service line in tiny halos. Above, the floodlight stems stand like tall pupils—unblinking, austere—while slender ladders shine where rivulets run. At the far corner, the paint yields to a damp constellation of moss, softening the strict geometry. The fence frets in the wind, a faint tinny hum; the gate shivers and stills; the court—polite, composed—holds its line.

Then, briefly, the rain loosens. A pale slit opens in the cloud and a wafer of light slides across the court; steam lifts in ghostly veils, delicate as breath on glass. Colours return—muted, yes, but sure—and the puddles brighten into little mirrors, coins scattered by a careless sky. Someone will come soon, shouldering the stubborn gate; a towel will swab the lines; a ball will arc and vanish in a glad, green blur. For now, time is measured by water, not points; the court listens and waits.

Option B:

Summer air pooled on the hard court, heavy as a held breath. The white lines glared—sterile, unwavering—like bones in a precise grid. My shoes whispered as I tested the baseline; the ball, warm from the pocket, sat in my palm like a small, bright planet. A gull heckled the quiet. Between us the net sagged by a single, innocent inch, a neat piece of cloth pretending to be a boundary.

He was already there, on the other side: Leo. We had been facing each other since orange balls and knotted laces, since county finals where our parents clapped with tight mouths. He beat me last summer in a tiebreak that stretched; I beat him in winter when frost turned lines to scars. In photos our trophies gleam; in my head it's the space between handshakes—the fractional pause, the coolness, the not-quite comment. Rivalry grows like ivy: quiet, persistent, impossible to ignore once you notice it.

“Time,” the umpire said. Then, the small ceremony that steadies my pulse: bounce, bounce, bounce; inhale; toss. The ball rose through the heat in a clean arc; my shoulder coiled; I struck. The sound cracked the hush. He blocked it back with that infuriatingly economical swing, racquet face like a mirror refusing to show me anything. We moved—diagonal, forward, retreat—trading pace for angle, caution for risk. My wrist flicked; his legs scissored; the rally wrote itself in chalky geometry.

He liked to hunt the backhand, and, because he knew I knew, he waited. I sent a slice that skated low; he ghosted in, feinting drop then driving deep. My feet stuttered, adjusted, recovered. The crowd—murmurs, a sibilant tide—leaned with us. I heard my coach’s voice in my head (quiet, pragmatic): play the patterns, not the player. I also heard Leo’s laugh from Year 9, a careless, sideways thing, when I double-faulted in front of everyone. Memory is not neutral; it stains the moment.

At 15–30 the scoreboard blinked like a slow, indifferent eye. Leo brushed at the baseline as if polishing it; he flicked a glance toward my box and smiled—razor-thin, almost polite. It landed like a needle beneath my ribs. I steadied the ball against my strings and felt the roughness where the gut had frayed; it seemed suddenly emblematic, a tired thread in a taut net. I bounced, breathed, and chose: wide to the deuce court, take his forehand on the move. The toss left my fingers—almost prayerful—and, for a heartbeat, the world paused.

• Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)

Option A:

Rain has rinsed the colour from the court; the familiar green is hushed to bottle-dark, and the white lines lie beneath a skin of water like pale bones. Service boxes turn to shallow basins, exact and rectangular, holding the sky. From the umpire’s chair, drips fall—tap, tap—stitching little rings that run out to the edges. The whole place looks polished, almost ceremonial, as if someone decided to tidy it and then forgot to stop.

Close to the net, beads cling to nylon, stubborn and bright. The net itself sags by a fraction; it is tired, but it is also patient. Along the chain-link fence a wet lattice glitters; every junction holds its own tiny jewel. A plastic chair on the sideline tilts, gathering a private puddle, while a lone ball—fur darkened to olive, stripe smudged—rests against the fence as if eavesdropping.

Usually there is noise: the elastic pop of a serve, the squeak of trainers, a quick grunt, applause ricocheting off the corrugated roof. However, today the court speaks in lower tones. It exhales the clean, earthy scent after rain; petrichor rises, a cool tang that sits on the tongue. Even the floodlights, switched off, seem to lean and watch, pale pillars in the slight mist.

Beyond the fence, the car park slicks to a mirror, and clouds loosen their grip. A thinner rain begins—more spray than fall—and a shy coin of sunlight nudges through: the puddles brighten. In them, the white lines do a wavering dance, broken by the neat pinpricks of fresh drops; reflections wobble, steady, wobble again. Who would hurry here, when even the air seems to slow?

Now the wind slips its fingers through the net and finds a low note. Soon someone will come with a squeegee and a towel; water will be herded to the corners, scuffed into the drains; the surface will dry, tacky again, ready. Yet, in this pause, the court is content, rinsed and waiting. It holds its breath for the first bold bounce to break the mirror.

Option B:

Summer didn't arrive on the calendar; it arrived with the first tensed hush of the crowd and the pistachio-green court baked to a dull shine. The net sagged a little in the middle, as if it too were tired of being the border. Beyond it stood Maya and Elias, two outlines drawn in heat-haze, their rackets bright as coins. Rubber and cut grass mixed in the breath of the morning; the lines glared—clean, accusing, thin as bones. The balls in the hopper clicked softly.

They had practised under floodlights, in bitter February; they had shared brackets in juniors; their names always met in the quarter-finals, then finals, like tram lines converging. But rivalry, for them, was not only results; it was the way they warmed up as mirrors, the way one would clip the line and the other would raise an eyebrow—calm, infuriatingly calm. Last summer, a tie-break spilled into a tie-break; rain needled the baseline; the handshake had been precise and cold. Not hatred—something narrower, and stricter: a promise not to yield.

The hush thickened. “Ready. Play.” The umpire’s voice descended like a stamp. Maya bounced the ball three times, rhythm carved out of nerves; Elias twirled his racket—once, twice. Meanwhile, at the edges, the small sounds assembled: a cough; a zipper; a gull’s indelicate criticism. She tossed high; her shoulder opened; the ball erupted off the strings with that fibrous pop which, even now, made something in her chest settle. He slid; the return came skimming, mean and low. The first rally was not cautious. It was declarative.

Backhand, forehand, step, step—both of them speaking a fluent language of angles. The crowd breathed in collective italics. What does a line mean, really, if not a dare? Maya drove crosscourt; Elias lunged, wrist taut as wire, and found the corner; chalk lifted like brief smoke. Advantage flickered towards nobody. Yet, as the point expanded, so did everything else: the summer heat; the staring sun; the old history, clacking softly in the background. And when the ball finally died into the net—an inch, perhaps two—it was not a conclusion; it was an opening.

• Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)

Option A:

The rain has just stepped away, leaving the tennis court slick and shining. Thin puddles sit in the low places like pieces of broken mirror—a patchwork of dull silver and dark green. The white lines look softer now, blurred at the edges, as if they are breathing under water. The net hangs with a tired sag, ropes swollen, droplets ticking from each knot.

Along the chain-link fence, beads of water tremble, catch the pale light, then drop into a narrow river beside the baseline. In one corner a drift of leaves has clumped into a sodden island; it grips a single yellow ball, heavier, almost brown. A faint half-moon of clay marks the service box—someone slid there earlier, urgent then, careless now. The court tastes of metal and earth; the air smells of cold tarmac. It is quiet, but not empty; drips count the seconds; a gutter coughs; the last raindrops stipple the puddles into soft rings.

When the wind stirs, the court seems to shiver. Reflections shatter and rejoin; the tall lamps stretch, then shrink in the puddles. I imagine the old rally—back and forth, back and forth—voices bouncing off the fence, a sharp squeak, a laugh that snapped like a serve. All of that has fled; a crow clicks on the pavilion roof. The bench gleams with a thin skin of rain; no one sits; the breath of the place is slow.

The clouds are thinning now, a pale stripe of sky widening above; a wisp of steam lifts from the court. Little threads of water hurry towards the drains and leave snail trails behind. The white lines return to themselves—clearer, stubborn. A breeze tests the net; it answers with a low hum. Soon the gate will scrape, shoes will clap on the wet ground, and the first serve will split the quiet cleanly.

Option B:

Late afternoon. Heat lifted off the hard court in shivers, and the white lines glared. The ball machines were silent now; chatter in the stands thinned to a careful hush. I rolled the ball in my palm and listened to the faint tap of strings next door.

Across the net, Leah bounced on her toes. Her ponytail flicked like a metronome. She wore that half-smile again—polite and sharp—and it prickled my stomach. Last month she beat me in a tiebreak; last year she took two finals. People called it a rivalry. To me it felt like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

I adjusted my grip. My fingers were slick with sweat, but the handle felt familiar. Behind the baseline, chalk dust rose as my shoes scraped. Coach’s voice floated up from memory: keep your head still, breathe, play the corners. Simple advice, said a thousand times, but today it sounded like a promise.

First point. I tossed, watched the ball climb, a small moon against a flat blue sky; I struck. The sound cracked—clean, bright—and her return came back with interest, skimming low. We traded forehands, then a cross-court backhand, our footwork a hurried dance. She drew me wide, neat and cruel. I chased, legs burning, and stretched; the ball cleared the tape by a whisper.

Leah’s eyes flashed, cool and calculating, as she stepped in. I remembered her laugh by the clubhouse when I double-faulted—maybe she didn’t mean it, but it stayed with me. Petty, maybe, but it was fuel. The rally broke when she tried a drop shot, an invitation and a dare. I sprinted, scooped it up. She was there already. My heart hammered. Was I ready? I told myself yes: for the point, and for her.

• Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)

Option A:

The tennis court lies under a thin sheet of water, a dull mirror spread from baseline to baseline. The white lines glow, smudged so they look like chalk dragged by a tired hand. Puddles gather in the low corners, shining, trembling when the light wind crosses them. The net sags in the middle like a mouth just woken; each knot holds a clear drop that hangs and then falls. A cold smell rises from the black tarmac, sharp and a bit metallic, mixed with damp leaves on the chain-link fence.

It is quiet, but not empty. There is a soft music here: drip, tap, trickle, the small plink of water falling from the net onto the paint. Beyond, tyres hiss along the road; a bird calls again. The court feels patient — as if it knows this pause. Ghost-marks of old shoes curl around the service box, a faint memory of a rush and a twist. Back and forth, back and forth, the mind still hears rallies that are not there.

Close up, the paint is blistered, grit rises through the colour; the day has washed everything clean and also a little sad. The floodlights stand like tall sentries. A leaf drifts across a shallow puddle, making tiny ripples. Rain has finished, the air still hums. A pale sun presses at the clouds and slides across the wet surface, so the court brightens — a soft shine, a promise. Soon someone will step back in. For now, it just breathes.

Option B:

Heat trembled above the hard court and the white lines seemed too bright to look at. The net hung in the middle like a thin mouth, not smiling, not frowning. Jade rubbed chalk on her palm and rolled two tennis balls against her strings; opposite her, Rowan twirled his racket as if it was a habit he slept with. The smell was familiar: sweat, rubber, dust; the sound was too — a dry squeak of shoes, a cough on the sideline.

Last summer he'd destroyed her in the club final; six games, then six more, before she even felt awake. She had smiled for the photo anyway, cheeks stiff, eyes shining with embarrassment. Now they were back on court, same chalk, same stubborn sun, but she felt different. She had run laps before school, she had hit serves until the light went. Rivalry tastes sour in your mouth. It also keeps you moving.

Jade tossed the ball. Silence bunched. Up, white against blue; then down, and her arm chased it. The strings bit; the ball flew, kissed the line, a puff of chalk, and Rowan was there, compact, neat, sending it back. Rally after rally, they wrote a sentence across the court, full stops at the baseline, commas at the net. She pushed crosscourt, he answered down the line — harder. Who would blink first? Her legs burned, her mind was loud and clear at the same time.

The rivalry wasn't loud, it was breath and feet and the small nod they both gave instead of a smile.

• Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)

Option A:

Rain has washed the tennis court clean, but it doesn't feel new. The green surface is darker, slick, and it glistens under the weak sky. White lines shine like thin bones, straight and stubborn, while puddles sit in the low places like small mirrors. The net hangs in the middle; it sags a little, a tired grin. Drops bead along the black fence and the posts. They tremble and then plop—plip, plip—into the water. If I breathe in, there is the smell of wet tarmac, leaves, and something rubbery.

Usually there is shouting and the hard smack of a serve; however, today the court is quiet. The only sound is the drip that repeats, again and again, as if counting. A single leaf, brown and soggy, sails slowly across and sticks. Meanwhile a thin breeze threads the chain-link and makes a low whistle. In the puddle a ragged sky stares back at me, and my face too, bent and wobbly. I touch the score board, the numbers are faded, the chalk marks have bled and curled. Footprints show where someone tried to play, then stopped. There is no bounce. When a ball would hit here it would just splat and die.

Option B:

The court was hot and bright. White lines glowed like fresh paint and the sound of shoes squeaked, quick, nervous. I held the ball; it was rough and new, and the smell of rubber and dust hung in the air. A whistle blew, a phone clicked. My heart thumped like a drum, slow then faster.

Across the net stood Kai, my rival since Year 8. His jaw tight, headband dark with sweat already, he looked at me without smiling, full of determination. We had played so many times, and he took the last one; he took it in front of everyone, and I still heard the cheers. Today I wanted something else: to change the story. His serve was strong, but my strategy was patience.

Then the umpire nodded. First serve. Toss, breathe, hit. The ball flew off my strings like a small comet. It kissed the line, chalk puffed up; however, a voice called, "Out!" The crowd made a low wave of sound. Was it? My stomach dropped. Kai rolled the ball back lazy, pretending he didn't care, but I saw the glitter in his eyes.

• Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)

Option A:

The tennis court is empty and wet. Rain sits in shiny puddles on the green ground like little mirrors. The white lines are blurred, they look rubbed out by a big wet hand. The net sags in the middle and it looks tired, like it wants to sleep.

Drip, drip, drip from the wire fence. The smell is rain and rubber, and a bit of earth, it gets in my nose.

A breeze comes and the puddles shake, circles go out and then come back. My shoe makes a squeak then a splash and then a squeak again. I can hear one bird, it sounds far away, everything else is quiet.

The clouds hang low and heavy. Grey sky presses down on the roof of the small hut and the benches are slick. My finger touch the cold net and drops run down the strings, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

Option B:

Heat sits on the tennis court. The white lines shine. The net sags a bit like it is tired. Air is still and the sun looks right at us.

Jordan is over there. He looks at me like I took something from him. We was friends, not now. I ain't look at him, but I feel him staring.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

My hand is wet on the grip. My racket feels heavy and my heart is loud, like a drum. I tell myself it is only a game but it isn't, not with him.

I throw the ball up and it goes too high, I swing anyway, the serve kisses the tape and drops in. He hits it back hard, he always does, the ball skims by and I run and I swing and I miss.

The court holds its breath.

Me and him. Him and me. Today we start again.

• Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)

Option A:

The tennis court is wet and empty. Rain sits in big puddles on the green floor. The white lines is pale and smudgy, the net hangs down and its rope is like a tired string. I can hear drip drip on the fence and the gate creak. It look like a mirror in places, I see my face broke up. The smell is rain and damp rubber, I breath it in and it is cold. There is puddles everywhere, they slide back and forth, back and forth. A bus goes past loud on the road. I want to play but I dont, my socks are soaked.

Option B:

The court is hot and hard, white lines shine and my eyes hurt. He stands on the other side, my rival, he stares like he wants to burn a hole. The crowd is quiet, I hear shoes squeek and a cough and phone. I hold the racket tight. My hand is wet. He bounces the ball. One, two, three. We used to be friends I think, or maybe not, it don’t matter now, not on court. My coach said eat bananas. I forgot my bottle. I ain’t scared. I want to win and he wants to win and my heart bangs like a drum.