The Beam Final

Text 1: Ten Centimetres, by Alys Penrose

An original short story extract.

The beam was ten centimetres wide. Jess had known that for six years, had walked it a thousand times in the cold gym above the leisure centre, but tonight, under the arena lights, it looked as narrow as a pencil line drawn across the air. She chalked her hands. She chalked them again, although they were already white.

The girl before her had fallen. Twice. Jess had heard the dull slap of a body hitting the mat and the soft groan of the crowd, a sound like a wave pulling back from a beach, and now the judges sat in a row with their pens lifted, waiting, their faces as blank as plates. Somebody coughed. A camera flashed high in the stands and left a green ghost floating in front of her eyes.

She mounted. The wood was smooth and faintly warm under her bare feet. Arms out. Chin up. Point the toes. Her coach’s voice ran through her head like a rosary, each instruction a bead to hold on to. The first leap went well. The turn went well. Then, on the landing of the back walkover, her right foot found only the edge, and for one long, sickening second the whole arena tilted, and she felt herself begin to go, and she clenched every muscle she owned and did not.

How does Alys Penrose use language and structure to show Jess’s nerves during her beam routine?

You should use relevant subject terminology to support your answer.