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 does the narrator believe the pupils already know about the narrator?: The narrator's role in Madame's household – 1 mark
• 1.2 Which statement best summarises the narrator’s first observations about the pupils and the narrator’s place in the room?: The class includes young women, with aristocratic connections present among the pupils, and the pupils already know about the narrator’s employment under Madame Beck; the narrator steps onto a slightly raised platform. – 1 mark
• 1.3 What does the narrator believe about the pupils’ knowledge of the narrator’s position in Madame’s household?: All the pupils knew the narrator’s position in Madame’s household. – 1 mark
• 1.4 How is the estràde described?: a low platform, raised a step above the flooring – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

1 The first glance informed me that many of the pupils were more than girls—quite young women; I knew that some of them were of noble family (as nobility goes in Labassecour), and I was well convinced that not one amongst them was ignorant of my position in Madame’s household. As I mounted the estràde (a low platform, raised a step above the flooring), where stood the

6 teacher’s chair and desk, I beheld opposite to me a row of eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather—eyes full of an insolent light, and brows hard and unblushing as marble. The continental “female” is quite a different being to the insular “female” of the same age and class: I never saw such eyes and brows in England. Madame Beck introduced me in one cool phrase, sailed from

11 the room, and left me alone in my glory. I shall never forget that first lesson, nor all the under-current of life and character it opened up to me. Then first did I begin rightly to see the wide difference that lies between the novelist’s and poet’s ideal “jeune fille” and

How does the writer use language here to present the class and the narrator’s feelings at the start of the lesson? 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 analyse how storm and stone imagery constructs a hostile, class‑conscious atmosphere: the pupils’ "eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather", "insolent light", and "hard and unblushing as marble" suggest cold defiance, while mentions of "noble family" and "not one...ignorant of my position" foreground status awareness and power imbalance, reinforced by the "continental 'female'...insular 'female'" contrast. It would also evaluate how structure and irony reveal the narrator’s uneasy authority—physically elevated on the "estràde" yet exposed after "one cool phrase" "left me alone in my glory"—with the dash in "more than girls—quite young women", the parenthesis, and the abstract "under-current"/"wide difference" signalling reflective disillusion with idealised "jeune fille" myths.

The writer opens with metaphor to cast the class as menacing. The synecdoche of a “row of eyes and brows” suggests a unified front of scrutiny, while “threatened stormy weather” extends that meteorological image to foreshadow conflict. The eyes’ “insolent light” is a striking metaphor: light becomes a glare of defiance, presenting the girls as audacious and unyielding, and they “were not ignorant of my position in Madame’s household”, heightening her vulnerability.

Moreover, the simile “brows hard and unblushing as marble” endows them with statuesque coldness. “Unblushing” implies boldness, while “marble” connotes wealth, polish and rigidity—so the class are both refined and resistant. The self-correction “more than girls—quite young women” signals the narrator’s recalibration, and the aside “(as nobility goes in Labassecour)” is sardonic, undercutting their status.

Furthermore, syntax and lexis convey the narrator’s isolation. The parenthesis explaining “estràde” foregrounds her outsider status as she ascends a platform that elevates and separates her. The tricolon “introduced me in one cool phrase, sailed from the room, and left me alone in my glory” has brisk finality: “cool” chills support, “sailed” is a nautical metaphor for Madame’s authority, and “alone in my glory” ironises supposed prestige. “I shall never forget that first lesson” is hyperbolic, signalling impact.

Additionally, the juxtaposition “continental ‘female’” versus “insular ‘female’” with scare quotes sharpens cultural distance, and the foreign tag “jeune fille” with the maritime metaphor “under-current” signals disillusion. Dashes and semicolons craft a measured rhythm that mirrors controlled anxiety.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would identify how metaphor, simile and contrast present an intimidating class and the narrator’s uneasy isolation: the pupils’ 'eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather', 'eyes full of an insolent light', and 'brows hard and unblushing as marble' suggest hostility and superiority; references to 'noble family' and the parenthesis '(as nobility goes in Labassecour)' highlight status and cultural difference via 'continental "female"' versus 'insular "female"', while the ironic 'left me alone in my glory' conveys her isolation at the start of the lesson.

The writer uses metaphor, personification and simile to present the class as threatening and mature. "a row of eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather" personifies their faces and builds a storm metaphor, suggesting collective hostility. The adjective "insolent" in "eyes full of an insolent light" implies open defiance, while the simile "brows... as marble" conveys cold, unyielding pride. Even "more than girls—quite young women" signals adult poise that unnerves the narrator. For the reader, this hints at conflict.

Furthermore, contrast and class references underline a power imbalance. "noble family" gives the pupils status, while "not one ... ignorant of my position in Madame’s household" shows they know she is subordinate, inviting disrespect. The contrast between the continental 'female' and the insular 'female', and "I never saw such eyes and brows in England", make them seem foreign and daunting, intensifying her unease.

Additionally, sentence forms reveal her feelings. The dash in "—quite young women" marks a sudden realisation; the parenthesis "(a low platform...)" adds a precise, controlled tone amid anxiety. Hyperbole in "I shall never forget that first lesson" and the ironic "alone in my glory", plus the metaphor of an "under-current", suggest isolation and hidden tension at the start.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: Word choices present the class as privileged and intimidating: noble family and imagery like eyes full of an insolent light, brows hard and unblushing as marble (simile) and threatened stormy weather (metaphor) show the pupils as proud and hostile. For feelings, the long descriptive sentence and phrases left me alone in my glory and I shall never forget suggest the narrator feels isolated and overwhelmed at the start of the lesson.

The writer uses metaphor to present the class as intimidating. The “row of eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather” suggests hostility. The negative word “insolent” and the simile “brows ... as marble” make them seem cold and unashamed. Their “noble family” shows status and power.

Furthermore, the narrator feels anxious and exposed. She is “well convinced that not one ... was ignorant of my position”, which shows she feels judged. The ironic phrase “left me alone in my glory” shows isolation, not pride. “I shall never forget that first lesson” shows how daunting it felt.

Additionally, the contrast between the “continental ‘female’” and the “insular ‘female’” makes the class feel unfamiliar. The phrase “more than girls—quite young women” emphasises their maturity, adding to her unease at the start.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses simple metaphors and similes like "threatened stormy weather" and "brows hard and unblushing as marble" to make the class seem scary and unfriendly. Words such as "quite young women", "noble family", and "left me alone in my glory" show the pupils’ status and that the narrator feels alone and worried at the start.

The writer uses word choice to present the class. The phrase “more than girls—quite young women” and “noble family” shows they are grown-up and important, which makes them intimidating.

Furthermore, metaphor and simile show their attitude: “eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather” and “brows… as marble.” This makes them seem hard and unfriendly.

Additionally, the narrator’s feelings are shown with “left me alone in my glory” and “I shall never forget that first lesson,” suggesting she feels alone, shocked, and overwhelmed. This creates a strong first impression of the class and her anxiety.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Reclassification via dash: shifting from “girls” to adults heightens potential challenge to authority, creating unease (quite young women)
• Social hierarchy and self-consciousness: awareness that pupils know her lower status increases vulnerability (position in Madame’s household)
• Minimal, precarious authority: parenthetical definition undercuts elevation, suggesting fragile control (a low platform)
• Synecdoche of features: reducing the class to a collective glare makes them seem dehumanised and unified in opposition (row of eyes and brows)
• Weather metaphor/personification: hostile mood foreshadowed as an approaching storm, intensifying tension (threatened stormy weather)
• Simile of stone: cold, shameless defiance makes the class feel unyielding and intimidating (hard and unblushing as marble)
• Cultural contrast and distancing: labelled categories in quotation marks construct otherness and the narrator’s outsider status (continental “female”)
• Characterisation of authority figure: elegant but detached exit abandons the narrator, amplifying isolation (sailed from the room)
• Irony/self-mockery: grand phrasing undercuts itself to reveal anxiety and exposure (alone in my glory)
• Retrospective reflection/structure: signals disillusion between ideal and reality, building suspense with a trailing comparison (wide difference)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how calm emerges by the end of the source
• 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 trace a controlled arc from the opening threat of “stormy weather” and the crescendo from “titterings and whisperings” to a “growing revolt of sixty against one”, identifying a decisive turning point and shift in pace/focus (the clipped repetition “In an instant” / “In another instant” and the zoom onto Dolores) that methodically de‑escalate the mood—beats like “check noise”, “a smile—not a laugh”, and the teacher’s “gravely and tranquilly” resumption—culminating in “pens travelled peacefully” and “order and industry”, thereby structurally creating calm by the end.

One way in which the writer structures the text to create calm is by orchestrating a clear arc from turbulent anticipation to composed resolution. The opening focus on “eyes… that threatened stormy weather” and a “growing revolt of sixty against one” establishes disorder, while long, hypotactic sentences mirror the swelling unrest. By the close, the tonal palette and narrative pace have been modulated: adverbs such as “gravely and tranquilly” and the serene description that “the pens travelled peacefully” slow the rhythm. This deliberate deceleration and tonal shift move the reader from noise to hush, culminating in the reassuring closure that “the remainder of the lesson passed in order and industry.”

In addition, the writer engineers calm through a shift in focus that narrows the field of conflict. The crowd is first generalised (“a row of eyes”), then reduced to “one girl alone,” before zooming to Dolores. This zooming produces a structural turning point, underscored by clipped temporal markers: “In an instant… In another instant…” The decisive containment of Dolores functions as the narrative pivot from riot to regulation. A stepwise sequence—“They were stilled… then a smile—not a laugh—passed… then… commenced a dictation”—uses anaphoric “then” to stage a graded de-escalation, softening the soundscape and ushering in calm.

A further structural feature is spatial framing and cyclical return. The narrator first “mounted the estrade” and later “returned to the estrade,” a framing device that restores hierarchy and stability. The sustained first-person perspective, moving from interior speculation to paratactic action (“take… remount… tear”), then to habitual calm (“passed”), foregrounds self-mastery. The resetting phrase “as if nothing at all had happened” consolidates the restored routine, leaving the scene tranquil and controlled.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response typically identifies a clear structural progression from collective threat to resolution: opening hostility (“threatened stormy weather”, “growing revolt of sixty against one”) narrows to one antagonist and quicker pacing (“In an instant” … “In another instant”), producing a tonal shift to calm marked by “courteously requested silence”, “gravely and tranquilly”, “smile—not a laugh—”, “pens travelled peacefully”, and the lesson “passed in order and industry.”

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of calm is by shaping the whole extract as an arc from rising disorder to resolution. Early paragraphs accumulate unrest (“titterings… murmurs… echoed more loudly”; “eyes… threatened stormy weather”), so that the eventual quiet is contrasted sharply. This rising action makes the final stillness more satisfying, guiding the reader towards a calm end-point.

In addition, the writer creates a clear turning point by shifting focus from the “mutinous mass” to one ringleader, Dolores. This zoom narrows the conflict and enables swift control. Temporal markers—“In an instant… In another instant”—accelerate the action to containment, after which sequencing (“They were stilled; then… then—when…”) slows the pace, ushering in calm.

A further structural feature is the tonal shift in the sustained first-person voice. Tentative modality (“I could… I felt as if”) gives way to firm, procedural verbs (“returned… requested… commenced”). This measured, methodical sequence functions as resolution: “pens travelled peacefully… the lesson passed in order and industry.”

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start the focus is on hostility with "stormy weather" and "titterings and whisperings" that "swelled into murmurs", but after Dolores is shut in the closet the focus shifts so that, by the end, calm is shown through "gravely and tranquilly" and "pens travelled peacefully".

One way the writer structures the text to create calm is the movement from a tense beginning to a peaceful ending. At the start, the pupils’ “eyes... threatened stormy weather” and the noise “swelled”, but by the end “the pens travelled peacefully” and the lesson “passed in order and industry.” This change from beginning to end shows calm emerging.

In addition, the writer shifts the focus from the whole class to one troublemaker. The narrator “looked at her attentively” and then shuts her in the closet, “the key in my pocket.” This clear turning point stops the revolt and brings control, and when she “returned to the estrade” the structure shows order returning.

A further feature is pacing. The middle has quick, decisive actions, but the ending slows as she “gravely and tranquilly... commenced a dictation.” Finishing on routine work makes a calm, controlled mood.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with trouble—'stormy weather', 'titterings and whisperings', a 'growing revolt'—and then, after the teacher acts, it ends calm. By the end, phrases like 'gravely and tranquilly', 'a smile—not a laugh', and 'the pens travelled peacefully' show the calm.

One way the writer structures calm is by moving from a tense beginning to a calm ending. Early there is ‘revolt’, but finally ‘pens travelled peacefully’. This contrast creates calm.

In addition, the writer changes focus from the whole class to one girl, Dolores. This shift to the ringleader, then back to the room, shows control returning and helps calm the class.

A further structural feature is the step-by-step sequence in the middle. Short actions like ‘In an instant… In another instant’ show steady control, slowing the chaos and leading to calm.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening threat imagery sets a tense baseline that makes later quiet more pronounced, framing calm as an earned contrast: threatened stormy weather
• Immediate removal of external authority heightens initial instability so the eventual steadiness reads as self-created calm: left me alone
• Crescendo of crowd noise (titterings → murmurs → echoes) escalates before subsiding, so structure moves from disorder towards control: echoed more loudly
• Measured, digressive enumeration slows pace and asserts rational control amid chaos, foreshadowing calm: in the first place
• Public turning point through decisive gesture arrests the revolt and shifts the lesson’s trajectory: tear the blotted page
• Structural zoom from the mass to a single focus contains disorder by isolating its source: One girl alone
• Rapid, sequential actions compress conflict to a swift climax, clearing space for calm: In an instant
• Subtle tonal shift across the room marks tension dissolving without renewed disruption: a smile—not a laugh
• Return to elevated position and routine task restores classroom order and steadies tone: returned to the estrade
• Closing image of quiet industry confirms a settled end-state after earlier turbulence: pens travelled peacefully

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.

In this part of the source, where the teacher locks the disruptive girl in the closet, her actions seem very extreme. The writer suggests that this decisive action was necessary to show the other students she was in charge.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the teacher and her extreme methods of discipline
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest her actions were necessary
• 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 offers a balanced, critical evaluation of the writer’s viewpoint, showing how the narrative frames the extreme act as necessary by euphemism and tonal control—branding it "summary justice", adopting "ayant l’air de rien" and "gravely and tranquilly", and charting the shift from "smile—not a laugh" to "pens travelled peacefully". It also interrogates how manipulative characterisation and detail ("dark, mutinous, sinister eye", "the key in my pocket") invite reader endorsement while acknowledging the coercive severity of the method.

I largely agree that the act of locking the girl in the closet appears extreme; however, the writer purposefully presents it as a necessary assertion of authority in a hostile environment. Through a first-person, retrospective narrative voice and a militarised lexical field, the extract tracks a clear escalation from insubordination to “summary justice,” inviting the reader to see the teacher’s decisiveness as both risky and required.

From the outset, the teacher is framed as embattled. The privileged “titled belles” have “opened the campaign,” and the narrator pointedly labels the ringleaders and the “wild herd,” importing the semantic field of warfare and herd-control. This emphasises “sixty against one” and primes us to perceive the power imbalance. Structural context heightens the stakes: we are told Madame will “throw overboard” any “weak official,” a nautical metaphor that normalises ruthlessness and implies that, without a show of strength, the teacher will be publicly sunk. The code-switching into French—“bonne d’enfants,” “jeune fille”—signals the narrator’s outsider status and the pupils’ contempt, sharpening our sense that conventional authority is denied her.

The writer also foregrounds the narrator’s blocked verbal power: her English might “make itself heard,” but in French she has only a “hesitating trickle.” That constraint justifies the turn to performative discipline. Her first gambit—twice insisting on “deliberately” reading and then tearing the “blotted page”—is a calculated shock; the adverbial repetition underscores control rather than temper. When one girl persists, the narrative zooms in: “pale face,” “dark, mutinous, sinister eye.” These premodifying adjectives demonise Dolores and predispose reader assent. The teacher’s “measured” appraisal—she “calculated her strength”—and the strategic aside “ayant l’air de rien” reveal a composed tactic. The anaphora “In an instant… In another instant…” accelerates the pace, the dynamic verbs (“pushed,” “turned,” “shut”) compressing the action into a clean coup. The image of the “key in my pocket” becomes a symbol of reclaimed control, even as the carceral connotations mark the act as undeniably severe.

Crucially, the aftermath validates the necessity. Brontë labels it “summary justice” that “proved popular”: “they were stilled… a smile—not a laugh—passed,” and, after the teacher “gravely and tranquilly” resumes, “pens travelled peacefully… order and industry” return. The controlled cadence and understated hyphenation (“smile—not a laugh”) suggest approval tempered by awe. While the phrase “summary justice” carries authoritarian undertones, the institutional backdrop—where “down he went” awaits any who falter—renders such decisiveness a professional survival tactic as well as a pedagogical one.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: the confinement is extreme, but the writer’s structural escalation, demonising characterisation of the ringleader, and the swift restoration of order together construct it as necessary to show she was in charge.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would largely agree that the writer frames the extreme punishment as necessary to assert authority, citing the swift, controlled action (In an instant, the key in my pocket) and the approving tone (act of summary justice, there was not one present but, in her heart, liked to see it done). It would also acknowledge the severity by noting calculated force (I measured her stature and calculated her strength) while explaining that the clear shift to calm (smile—not a laugh, pens travelled peacefully, order and industry) supports the writer’s viewpoint.

I largely agree with the statement. The act of locking a pupil in a closet certainly reads as extreme, yet the writer frames it as proportionate in a crisis to establish authority. Before the incident, the class is depicted through a semantic field of conflict and revolt: the girls ‘opened the campaign’, there is a ‘revolt of sixty against one’, a ‘mutinous mass’ and a ‘wild herd’. These metaphors magnify the pressure on a lone teacher, especially as her ‘command of French’ is limited, so the reader sees why forceful action might be the only way to assert control.

The narrator first uses a measured, public gesture: she ‘deliberately… tear[s]’ Blanche’s ‘blotted page’. The repeated adverb ‘deliberately’ highlights controlled authority; it ‘check[s] noise’ but crucially ‘one girl alone’ persists. Dolores is constructed as a real threat through loaded description: ‘pale face… hair like night… a dark, mutinous, sinister eye’. This pattern of ominous adjectives positions the girl as dangerous, escalating the sense that stronger discipline is necessary.

The decisive act is planned and swift. Verbs such as ‘measured’ and ‘calculated’ show premeditation, while the staccato pacing of ‘In an instant… In another instant… the key in my pocket’ conveys firmness. Structurally, there is a sharp contrast from chaos to order: the ‘summary justice’ ‘proved popular’; a ‘smile—not a laugh—passed from desk to desk’, and soon ‘the pens travelled peacefully’, as the teacher resumes ‘as if nothing at all had happened’. This clear before-and-after effect suggests the action successfully asserts her authority.

However, the first-person voice is self-justifying; terms like ‘sinister’ and the emphasis on Dolores being ‘a Catalonian’ may bias us to accept severity. Locking a child in a closet is ethically extreme.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer’s language and structure present the act as harsh but necessary to prove she was in charge, and its immediate, calming effect supports that view.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would mostly agree that the writer presents the teacher’s extreme action as necessary to assert control, citing simple evidence like the act of summary justice that proved popular, the class calming as pens travelled peacefully, and the lesson passing in order and industry. It would also notice the harshness of locking the girl away with the key in my pocket.

I mostly agree with the statement. The teacher’s action of locking the girl in the closet seems very extreme, but the writer suggests it was needed to show control.

At first, the class is presented like a “growing revolt of sixty against one,” which makes the teacher look powerless. The first-person narrator explains her “command of French” is limited, so she can’t argue back. This builds pressure. She tries a lesser punishment by tearing Blanche’s “blotted page in two.” This method (a public humiliation) “avails to draw attention and check noise,” but it doesn’t stop the disruption, so stronger action feels necessary.

The description of the disruptive girl, Dolores, uses dark adjectives: “pale face,” “hair like night,” and a “mutinous, sinister eye.” This characterization makes her seem dangerous. The teacher’s verbs show planning, not rage: she “measured” and “calculated” before acting. Then the fast, repeated phrasing “in an instant … in another instant” and the sharp movement to “the key in my pocket” show decisive, controlled force. This is clearly extreme discipline, but the writer frames it as tactical.

Finally, the reaction supports the idea it was necessary. The phrase “summary justice” sounds harsh, yet it “proved popular,” and the class moves from noise to calm: “a smile—not a laugh,” then “the pens travelled peacefully” and “order and industry.” This structural contrast from chaos to quiet implies authority has been re-established.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the action is severe, but the writer makes it seem justified to prove she was in charge.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: Simple agreement that the teacher’s actions were extreme because she “occupied the closet, the door was shut, and the key in my pocket”, and that they were necessary to show control since the class accepted it (“the act of summary justice…proved popular”) and calmed down (“the pens travelled peacefully”).

I mostly agree that the teacher’s action is extreme, but the writer shows it was needed to prove control. Before the closet moment, the class is rude: a ‘growing revolt of sixty against one’ makes her seem alone. Also the school ‘never assisted a weak official’, so she had to be firm to keep her job and status.

The writer makes the disruptive girl seem threatening with negative adjectives like ‘mutinous’ and ‘sinister’, and says she was ‘dreaded and hated’ by others. She even ‘measured her stature’ and ‘calculated her strength’, which shows planning, not panic. The quick verbs ‘turned’, ‘shut’, ‘key in my pocket’ suggest a fast, decisive move. The phrase ‘summary justice’ suggests a short, sharp punishment that fits the situation.

After this, the class calms: ‘a smile—not a laugh—passed’ and ‘the pens travelled peacefully’, so the lesson ‘passed in order and industry’. This shows her control returning, which supports the idea that the action worked and was necessary to show she was in charge.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: locking someone in a closet feels very harsh and extreme, but the writer leads us to think it was needed in that moment to stop the chaos and assert authority.

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:

• Scale and isolation present extremity as proportionate → overwhelming odds make firm assertion plausible (sixty against one)
• Language barrier limits softer control → inability to persuade in French makes non-verbal decisiveness seem necessary (hesitating trickle of language)
• Conflict imagery normalises forceful tactics → seeing the class as a rebellious collective invites decisive suppression (mutinous mass)
• Prior assertive but non-violent step only partly works → page-tearing gains attention but doesn’t end defiance, nudging harsher action (tear the blotted page in two)
• Strategic focus on the main disruptor signals leadership → isolating the persistent agitator models consequences for the rest (one girl alone)
• Calculated, not impulsive, force builds legitimacy → measured assessment suggests controlled necessity rather than cruelty (calculated her strength)
• Rapid, authoritative execution communicates control → the swiftness shocks the room into compliance (In an instant)
• Peer approval reframes severity as justice → class consensus validates the act as rightful authority (proved popular)
• Immediate, lasting order evidences effectiveness → calm work resumes, implying the action established who was in charge (pens travelled peacefully)
• Yet loaded characterisation may overjustify extremity → demonising the girl risks biasing us toward approval (dreaded and hated)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A digital magazine about modern work is inviting creative pieces from its readership.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a high-pressure kitchen from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about an important deadline.

(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 pass burns with amber insistence; heat lamps interrogate porcelain, turning each plate into a little sun. Tickets bristle on the rail; their corners curl; their ink bleeds under steam. The head chef’s voice is a metronome: “Two sea bass, one risotto, three rib-eye medium; away now.” “Yes, chef.” “Yes, chef.” “Yes, chef.”

Between steel counters, the air is crowded: briney mussel steam and garlic; the sweet, nutty sigh of butter browning; the clean citrus bite that catches at the back of the throat. The extractor exhales, tireless, like a domesticated dragon. Pans spit and skitter; the grill snarls; the salamander glows with an incandescent scowl. A fridge door opens—a cool exhale against the heat’s knuckled grip. Knives talk on boards: thock-thock-thock, a steady tattoo; steel kisses steel on the strop.

Calls ricochet: “Behind!” “Hot!” “Sharp!” “Corner!” “Hands!” Sleeves are rolled, aprons are stained with honest work, forearms mapped with pale, crescent scars that shine when sweat gathers. The garde manger counts leaves like a watchmaker counts jewels, aligning frills of baby gem; the saucier teases fond into a glossy jus; the grill chef’s tongs speak their own staccato language. It is practised chaos—familiar, yet always a heartbeat from collapse.

Time behaves strangely here: elastic, then suddenly snapping. A reduction sulks and refuses to thicken; butter threatens to burn; the risotto demands attention—stirring and stirring, coaxing starch, coaxing silk. The kitchen’s heartbeat is syncopated by the printer’s cough. At the pass, the chef’s countdown corrals panic into pace: “Three minutes to table twelve… two to the bass… one to the lamb.” Plates are warmed, wiped, polished; light slides across them as if reluctant to leave.

Under the gold glare, finishing becomes ritual. A smear of aubergine—an evening horizon. A ring of jus, glossy and exact. A scatter of toasted seeds; the tweezers’ silver beak placing a leaf just so. The head chef leans in—hawk-eyed, unsentimental. A stray speck is scraped; a chive is rotated by a hair’s breadth; one plate is turned away (the quenelle lacks conviction). It is, perhaps, a little precious; yet precision is the only armour against chaos.

Then the printer coughs again—louder, longer. A ribbon of orders unfurls: table eight, gluten-free; table four, two rare-rare; twelve covers on mains now. The room tightens. Adrenaline braids with steam. Foreheads pearl; forearms glisten; burns bloom the colour of old coins. Someone over-salts a beurre blanc; a squeeze of lemon, a splash of cream, a held breath—rescued, just. The floor is slick with speed and a whisper of oil, shoes whispering in soft, urgent arcs.

And then, as quickly as it crescendos, the storm unbuttons. Hobs dial down; vents soften their endless inhale; knives lie rinsed and ready, wet with beaded calm. The heat lamps hum—a tired afterthought. The room exhales thyme, lemon zest, smoke, and the faint metallic ghost of effort. Not quiet, not really; only the eddy before the next surge, the next volley, the next “Yes, chef” that ripples the air and sends the machine—well-oiled or not—clattering forward again.

Option B:

Midnight. The hour that masquerades as stillness while time sprints. On Aisha’s second-hand laptop, the scholarship portal’s countdown chewed at the corner of the screen: 00:57:41.

The kitchen light hissed. Grease freckles on the ceiling made constellations she refused to read; tonight, she believed only in numbers. She hovered over the touchpad, coaxing the cursor into line with the pale blue Upload button, as if steady hands could steady fate. The personal statement—pared, polished, and finally, as lean as she could bear—sat in a folder she had renamed, optimistically, FinalFinal.pdf. It contained everything: her mother’s night shifts; her own catalogue of part-time jobs; the after-school robotics club she’d set up in a draughty classroom with three second-hand kits and a borrowed key. If she missed this deadline, the next window was a year away; and next year felt as distant and brittle as a promise shouted across a car park.

Already, the flat had slipped into a thin, vigilant silence. The fridge buzzed its cool, metronomic hum. Buses sighed on the main road. Somewhere, someone laughed and then stopped, the sound snipped mid-thread. Aisha’s heart fell into step with the cursor’s blink—on, off, on—like a tiny lighthouse showing her where to go and how easily she could fail to make it.

She read the opening line again—just one more time, then truly done: My name is Aisha Rahman, and I am applying not simply for funds but for permission to take up space. Was it too earnest? Too sharp? Her English teacher’s voice returned, sage and fierce: Tell them the truth, but craft it. She sliced a clause; she fused two sentences with a semicolon. The prose breathed, clean and spare. Time thinned: 00:49:02.

Then the Wi‑Fi flinched. One green bar faltered to grey. The upload stalled at 37%, the progress bar freezing into a stingy shard of blue. A wheel began to spin—patient, merciless, absurdly calm. Aisha held very still as if the router were a skittish animal she might soothe. “Come on,” she whispered, bargaining with silicone and signal. The page refreshed itself into an error, a blank white reprimand.

She grabbed her phone; tethering was Plan B. Battery at 12%. The charger’s frayed cable nibbled at the socket, indifferent. Optimism is a skill, she told herself—learned, practised, occasionally counterfeit. She killed every background app, dimmed the screen to a nocturnal whisper, and retried. The bar crept to 54%, 68%, 71, 71, 71—

00:36:18.

There was a twenty‑four‑hour copy shop two streets over. Its window glowed on nights like this, a small lighthouse of toner and hope. The portal accepted in‑person submissions if time‑stamped before one; archaic, but merciful. She snatched the scarred memory stick from its lanyard, jammed her feet into trainers, and swept her documents into a folder thick with the fingerprints of the week. Door, keys, hoodie—she made an inventory aloud, a litany to keep panic domesticated.

Outside, the stairwell smelled of damp and detergent. The city had pulled on its dark, glimmering coat: slick pavements; fox-bright eyes in the hedge; a siren stitching the air and unpicking it again. Aisha checked the time—00:31:42—and began to run, toward a line she could not afford to let pass without her on the right side of it.

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

Option A:

Under the hard white glare of the heat lamps, the pass glows like a runway, a strip of light where dishes must take flight—or falter. Pans seethe along the line; skins crackle; oil frets in shallow pools. The air is salted with heat and urgency; it tastes of lemon rinds and scorched butter, of pepper and something metallic from the pan’s bitten edge. Every surface gleams, slick with a patina of steam, and the floor grips like a stubborn tongue that will not let go.

At the pivot, the head chef directs without looking down, eyes scanning, hands precise. He calls it out: ‘Two bass up; four lamb mid; drop chips; fire table nine.’ The ticket machine rattles and spits, thin paper curling like nervous fingers around the spike. ‘Yes, chef. Yes, chef.’ Blades flicker; boards thud; the line moves in jagged, syncopated unison. A pan flares—blue then orange—and is tamed with a hiss and a twitch of the wrist. Everything is timed; everything is now.

Under the lamps, plates wait like blank promises. A ladle rises and falls; a sauce is drawn in a swift, glossy ribbon, not a smear, not tonight. Tweezers pluck micro-herbs with absurd delicacy, as if the green flecks might bruise from a glance. A commis wipes the rim, breath held, sleeves damp and eyes stinging; the smallest tremor runs down his wrist. ‘Don’t drown it,’ comes the calm, sharp voice beside him. He nods without turning, counting under his breath, counting too fast.

Heat presses on backs and crawls under collars. Sweat beads and travels in shiny paths to the line of the jaw; the salt licks lips; someone bites it away and carries on. The extraction fans drag at the steam in heavy breaths; the fryers are a relentless metronome. Time stretches and snaps—ten seconds can feel longer than a minute; a minute vanishes in a blink. A towel smokes where it rests too near the pass; it is whisked away, replaced, forgotten. The room becomes an engine room, a forge, a storm, all at once—perhaps all of that is too much, yet the pressure insists.

A bell pings, not polite but peremptory. Plates line up; they slide forward; they nearly fly. On the other side, a door flaps and shadows take them away. For a heartbeat, silence gathers—then the machine coughs and prints again and again and again. ‘Service,’ the chef says, not loud; he doesn’t need to be. The white light holds steady, unblinking; the runway keeps shining. The promise is remade, plate by plate, until the last order curls on the spike and the heat at last eases, just a fraction. Tomorrow it will be brighter. Or maybe just as bright.

Option B:

Time did not simply pass this evening; it patrolled. The wall clock’s second hand circled with metronomic insistence, each click a small verdict in her quiet kitchen. Midnight, once abstract and generous, had shrunk into a sharp edge—an ultimatum with a digits-only face. Outside, rain rehearsed its own percussive deadline, bead after bead against the window, as if the sky were counting down with her. On the table: her laptop, the portal’s warning banner open like a raised eyebrow. Thirty-three minutes. Merciful, it seemed; not to be trusted.

Amara flexed her fingers and read the sentence she had rewritten ten times. The cursor blinked—an impatient lighthouse—at the edge of a paragraph meant to contain her. How to distil years of graft, of stacked shifts and after-school tutoring and breathless train rides, into 650 words that might persuade strangers she was worth the scholarship? She rearranged clauses the way you might rearrange cups in a cupboard: efficient, tidy, somehow never quite right. Her tea had cooled to an uninviting grey. Submit. The button waited.

The portal refreshed without permission, then stalled. A loading wheel revolved languidly; time, inexorable, accelerated. Her Wi-Fi icon flickered—one bar, no bars, a timid return—as if the air between the router and her laptop had thickened. She stood, then sat, then stood again, energy ricocheting between determination and dread. On the fridge, fluorescent sticky notes flapped where the draft found them: deadlines, numerals, reminders to breathe. How ordinary it all sounded while her future, narrow as a paper envelope, threatened to slip.

Her mother had circled the date on the calendar in careful ink, writing Deadline (important) underneath. It wasn’t only about tuition; it was about relief—a reprieve from the arithmetic of bills—and about proof. Proof that the slog had meant something; proof that Amara’s obsession with commas and community projects could tessellate into opportunity. She remembered the librarian who lent her extra minutes on the computers, the teacher who had said she could. Their voices assembled now, a chorus in the thrum of her worry.

She scrolled to the final box: Upload personal statement. The file name—final_final_really_final.docx—made her grimace at her own optimism. She clicked. The wheel turned; the wheel paused; the wheel, cruelly, spun back. Ten minutes. She could feel them: muscular, sprinting minutes. She opened the document again, as if a better adjective could ransom time. A semicolon became a dash; a dash became restraint. Her heart negotiated in beats. Somewhere, the rain eased. At nine minutes past and fifty-two seconds, she hovered over Submit and, resisting the melodrama of a prayer, pressed.

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

Option A:

Steam coils upward into the glare of heat lamps, a pale ghost that blurs edges and temper. Pans spit answers; oil snaps its tiny rain across wrists already freckled with burns. The room smells of butter just beginning to brown, of lemon rind, of char; underneath it lurks the metallic tang of stainless steel.

Meanwhile, the ticket machine chatters; strips of paper rattle down like flags in a storm. 'Two sea bass, one lamb medium, three beet starters—on the board!' The head chef's voice cuts cleanly, almost calm, but urgency edges it. Time here is a tyrant: it ticks in the sizzle of a scallop and in the impatient bell at the pass.

Hands work without thinking, though they think all the time. Tom tastes and tosses; Hana pinches salt between stained fingers; someone fans a pan to stop the butter from burning. Plates line up under the lamps, blank and slightly accusatory. A smear of carrot purée leans like a sunset; three coins of courgette shingle precisely; a leaf of bitter cress lands with tweezers and a held breath.

Beyond, the pot wash roars. Trays thunder into a sink that fizzes; steam lifts the hair on the back of the neck. Ovens exhale when doors fling open; the fridge hums, stubborn and faithful. Boots skid a fraction on a slick patch and are corrected; a pan is yanked off the heat just in time. Service demands, and we answer, again and again.

A steak returns—over. A groan rolls through the line, barely audible. It is refired; butter, thyme, garlic; the clock eats seconds we don't have. How many beats before a risotto sulks into paste? For a breath, it feels like a battlefield, though nobody bleeds.

Finally, the last table. We wipe the pass, align the tongs, kill the gas; the air cools by a degree you can feel in the skin. Silence is not total—fans still worry the ceiling—but the room loosens. Smells fade to a damp cloth, to tired herbs, to something almost sweet. Tomorrow the tickets will fall again; for now, the metal gleams back, patient.

Option B:

Tick.

The kitchen clock did not whisper; it pecked at the hour like a woodpecker against thin bark. 11:17 p.m., neon digits in the laptop corner; the glow made the darkness feel deliberate. The deadline—midnight—was not a line, not really; it was a cliff.

Lena sat at the end of the table where the varnish had worn to a pale oval, her elbows in a ring of old coffee. The cursor pulsed in the document, a lighthouse on an empty sea. Scholarship application: final statement. She had rehearsed those two words all week, as if they were a spell that could compel sentences into order. Instead, her thoughts arrived in noisy fragments, a traffic jam of beginnings that wouldn’t move.

From upstairs came the muffled sigh of the boiler; the house exhaled, then settled. Her mother had gone to bed early; they both knew sleeping wasn’t possible. Not tonight. Not with tuition folded into the word submit.

She tried to write about resilience. About the Saturday shifts, the bus journeys at dawn, the way failure had once felt like a sticker. It sounded pompous. Delete. She tried humour—awkward. Delete. The backspace key began to sound like rain. Wasn’t she supposed to know herself by now, to distil it, precise, persuasive? Her chest felt tight with that mixture of hope and dread; a fizzy anxiety gathering behind her ribs.

11:34. The page remained pale. Her English teacher’s voice drifted in—Draft early; finish early; never bargain with the clock—and Lena smiled, then winced at the predictability of ignoring advice. She glanced at the deadline page again: Midnight, no extensions. The font looked smug.

Words arrived, finally, not elegant but honest: a scene in the library, a confession about giving up and then not. Sentences stitched themselves together—hesitant, then clearer. She read them aloud; they sounded like her.

11:49. Save. Attach. The upload bar inched along, a slow caterpillar; halfway, then paused. Her Wi‑Fi icon flickered, an irritated eye.

“Please not now,” she said.

11:57.

In the hush she did something small but decisive: she killed the clock’s sound and pressed retry.

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

Option A:

The lamps burn amber over the pass, turning plates into stages. Air is heavy with steam, lemon zest, and something charred. The stainless-steel counters reflect it in a dull glow. Pans seethe; oil pops like small fireworks. The extractor hums a low, relentless note that fills the ribs. The floor is streaked with water and flour, slippery as a question left unanswered.

The kitchen moves like a crowded clock. Knives tap-tap, spoons scrape, orders flutter. The ticket machine coughs out more; its paper tongue grows longer. Voices cross: "Two sea bass, one medium steak!" "Yes, chef!" Timers beep in an uneven chorus; a red light blinks and no one looks up. Shoulders twist, bodies slide by with practised courtesy, yet elbows still nudge and plates shiver.

At the pass, the head chef is the metronome. His eyes are sharp and a little tired; his finger points, his voice snaps and lifts. He wipes a smear of jus with a neat, impatient stroke. A young cook trembles but keeps moving, tweezers pinching micro herbs, a fine rain of salt. Perspiration beads along his hairline, caught by the heat lamps, caught by the clock that blinks 19:47 and will not slow.

The food is beautiful and brutal. A piece of fish glows, a green puree swirls like a tiny river, a shard of crackling glints. Plates travel to the window; the bell rings twice, sharp and clean. For a breath, the sound drops, almost quiet—just the hiss, just the hum. Then another ticket rattles and the spell breaks. The kitchen inhales; it shouts back. "Yes, chef, yes!" Hands fly, flames lean, the rhythm returns, piling and rolling like a quick tide. Outside, someone laughs in the dining room. In here, we beat forward, dish by dish, until the lamps burn down.

Option B:

11:37 p.m. The clock on Mina's desk clicked forward with smug neatness, each second a small hammer tapping in the quiet. The room smelt of cold coffee and highlighter ink. Her laptop breathed hot air against her wrists; outside, rain sewed lines across the glass. Midnight was no romance; it was a gate about to swing shut.

On the submission page, a blue button waited: Submit. Mina stared at the blinking cursor in her personal statement, and it stared back, unforgiving. She had rewritten the opening three times. Her first sentence was trying to be bold and honest, yet it sat there like a stone in her mouth. She trimmed adjectives, she slotted in examples, she counted words—499, 501, 500. The numbers see-sawed. Mina's chest tightened at the thought of the scholarship slipping away if she missed the deadline.

She reached for her notes, a fan of messy pages with arrows and a crooked timeline. Get to the point, Mr Henley had told her in class; be clear, be you. Easy advice at 3 p.m., harder now with time thinning. She checked the Wi-Fi bars—three, then two. The page refreshed and stuttered. The blue button blinked to grey as if it needed to think. 'No, no, not now,' she whispered, as if the router could hear. The clock continued its steady percussion—11:45, 11:46. Her heart tried to keep up, an anxious drum that skittered.

She read the paragraph aloud, softer, calmer, and something inside it sounded like her. The sentences were not perfect, but they were true. Slipping her finger over the trackpad, she hovered. Consequences crowded her head: her mother's tired smile, the cost of next year, the quiet need to prove she could do this. A siren climbed and fell outside. Mina breathed, counted to three, and pressed the button. The screen thought, and thought.

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

Option A:

Under the red glare of the heat lamps, everything looks sharpened. Pans hiss; oil snaps like tiny fireworks. Garlic rides the air with lemon; a charred sweetness makes your mouth water. Knives tap, tap, tap on boards, a quick heartbeat. Steam breathes out of metal mouths and rolls across the ceiling.

At the pass, plates glow like small moons. A bell pings; order tickets shiver on the rail. “Two cod, three steak, walking in!” The head chef doesn’t shout, he slices the room with his voice. Yes, chef — the same answer, a drum beat. Hands hover, then place with a rough precision: a smear of sauce, a twist of greens.

Meanwhile, on the line, bodies crowd shoulder to shoulder. Sleeves are rolled, foreheads shine. The metal bench is a runway for hot pans; they thud down and skid, and the handles bite the palms. The air is hot, almost too hot to breath. Time ticks, louder than the extractor fan. What time is it? It doesn’t matter. A timer beeps, another joins it, and for a moment the whole room feels like it will tip.

Then the rhythm returns. Tongs click like castanets. A squeeze of lemon, a sprinkle of salt, a quiet check that becomes habit. Smoke strokes the lamps — heat presses the spine. The pass is an altar: finished plates slide under the glow. The head chef leans in, lifts a stray herb, flicks a crumb, nods. Gone.

Still the tickets crawl, in, out — the kitchen breathing, refusing to rest.

Option B:

Midnight. The line she had been walking all week, thin as thread and sharp as a blade.

The kitchen blinked with tired light; the fridge hummed like a quiet engine. On the table, Lena’s laptop warmed her wrists and the cursor pulsed, patient and mean. The web page shouted in neat boxes: upload the statement, proof of address, a reference. The red numbers on the oven clock glared 11:41 PM. Tick. Tick. Tick.

She read her last paragraph again, then again, chewing at the edge of a nail. Four hundred words to tell them who she was. How? She typed and backspaced, the letters came like traffic, then stopped; sentences tangled, then smoothed out in places. Outside, the street was empty, although her mind wasn’t—memories crowded, the school corridor smell, the long bus rides, her mum’s hands smelling of soap. She tried to catch the best ones.

“Come on,” she whispered, not sure if to the laptop or to herself. The line count slid down. 11:52. Her heart knocked like a clock in her chest. She added a final sentence—brave, maybe too brave—and sat back. It should be enough.

11:57. The Submit button sat there, grey and important. She hovered, then clicked. A spinning circle appeared: a little storm on the screen. Please wait, it said, like a joke. The Wi-Fi bars dipped, then climbed.

She held her breath. Time did that strange thing it does near the edge; it stretched, then snapped quick. 11:59. The page blinked.

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

Option A:

Heat presses on my face; the air tastes metallic, salty. Under heat lamps, plates glow like moons. Pans sizzle and spit, oil snapping like fireworks. Steam crawls up the tiles and the extractor fan groans, a tired beast.

Knives thud in a strict rythm, chop-chop, the board shivering. Tickets tremble on the rail; the printer coughs out more. "Two sea bass, four burgers!" the head chef barks, and we chorus, Yes chef. Meanwhile the dishwasher roars; plates clatter. Garlic bites the nose, butter melts to foam, lemon stings where it splashes a cut. Adrenaline buzzes behind my ribs. My hands move fast but careful, because one wrong move and it all slips.

At the pass, silence is demanded, but plates still shake a little. A smear of sauce, a scatter of herbs—wiped, checked, sent. It is chaos: shouting, sizzling, steam, yet every action needs precision. The clock doesn’t tick, it hammers. The spoons feel hot, metal singing in my palm; the heat lamp watches like a red eye.

Option B:

The deadline glowed on my phone: 12:00. The numbers looked sharp and cold. It was 11:43. In the library, the air felt dusty, the lights hummed. My essay sat open on the screen with one paragraph to go and my hands were shaking a bit. The cursor blinked like a small warning light. I tried to breathe steady, but the clock was loud, like it wanted me to fail.

I typed. Words came out crooked, but I pushed them into lines. Meanwhile, the printer across the room coughed, and someone laughed, which made the room feel smaller. If I missed this, I could lose my college place. That was the word the email used: deadline. I had planned all week—still, somehow, I was here, with coffee stains, with a frayed notebook, chasing the last sentence.

By 11:56, I checked the word count, checked the title, checked my name again; my thumb hovered over submit. What if the Wi-Fi dropped? What if the site crashed? I could hear my mum’s voice saying, don’t leave it late, and my own heart replied with a thud. Finally, I clicked. The page spun, spinning and spinning, like a coin deciding which side to land on.

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

Option A:

Hot. The heat lamps stare down. Plates shine white and blank. Steam rises, like smoke from a little train. Pans hiss and spit. A chef shouts and the sound hits the metal walls.

I smell garlic, butter, lemon and a bit of burn. The clock is loud and mean, it keeps going. Paper tickets hang like small flags. Hands move fast, up and down, side to side. Someone says Behind and someone bumps my arm, hot oil jumps. The head chef bangs the bell and says service, service, the word runs around the room.

My shirt sticks to my back. Knives tap on boards like rain. The pass glows red. I want to breathe but the air is heavy, like a bath with no window. More orders come, more plates, more noise, we dont stop, we plate, we wipe the rim and send it and then another.

Option B:

Morning. The time when alarms shout and clocks tick. The deadline sits on my calender like a red dot. 10:00. It looks big. It looks near and heavy.

I sit at the kitchen table with cold tea. My laptop hums. 9:43. My essay is not done. Lines are empty, words stick like glue. My fingers shake, they tap, nothing comes.

Miss Carter said its due today, no excuses. I dont want to fail. The kitchen clock is loud, it beats like a drum in my head. The printer coughs and jams.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

My phone buzzes - Bus in 5. 9:49 now: the numbers change and my chest does to. I breath fast. I need to press send, I need to finish.

Deadline chases me like a dog, but I turn and run at it. I type anyway. The words come slow and small, but they come.

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

Option A:

The kitchen is hot, it is like a box. Heat lamps glow on the plates and it hurts my eyes. Pans bang and water spit, the air taste of salt and fat. People shout orders, I can not hear them all. My hands shake and the clock tick slow. Oil pops and jumps on my arm and I say nothing. The chef say go go go! I move. The floor sticks. I smell onions and burn again and again. I think about dark sky outside for a second, then forget. The bell dings, more food comes, it never stops

Option B:

Monday morning. The deadline is today and it sits in my head like a bell. It is important, everyone said that. I was suppose to finish last night but I didnt, the page stayed white and I stared, my pen cold in my hand and my toast burned and the smoke alarm shouted. Mum said hurry up and I nod and pretend it is fine. The bus is late or maybe I am, the cat sleeps on the chair. I try to write a start in my phone, my thumb get stuck and I delete it all. The teacher will look at me and I will have nothing.