Source A: The open evening

An original contemporary non-fiction-style practice text, written for this question.

The hall was already full when I reached the door. I could hear chairs scraping and people talking, but I kept my hand on the handle. Mum had said I would be pleased to show everyone the model bridge I had made in technology. I had been pleased at home. Here, with people waiting, the bridge seemed too small to deserve a table of its own.

“Come on,” Mum said. She was smiling, so I stepped inside. The room smelled of damp coats and the tea the teachers had put out. I set the bridge down carefully, though one of its paper supports folded under my thumb. A laugh came from the next table. I looked up too quickly. No one was watching me, but my face had gone hot all the same.

For a while, I stood beside the model and answered the questions people asked. One parent wanted to know how long it had taken. Another asked whether it could hold a book. I tested it, slowly. The book stayed in place. A few people clapped, and the bridge no longer looked quite so small. I began to explain how I had made the supports, using my hands to show where the weight travelled.

Then the headteacher stopped beside the table. “Would you tell the new Year Seven pupils about this at assembly?” she asked. The words seemed to land between us. I could feel Mum waiting for my answer. A moment earlier I had been explaining the bridge without thinking; now every sentence I might say at assembly seemed to crowd into my head at once.

“I think I could,” I said. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted, but the headteacher nodded and moved on. Mum squeezed my shoulder. I looked down at the bridge. One support was still bent, and the paper had a crease where my thumb had pressed too hard. I straightened it as much as I could. This time, when someone came over, I did not wait for them to ask the first question.