I vividly remember my sixth-grade classroom. I remember what it smelled like, where I sat, what I could see out the window, and how I felt about things. Peel away this decrepit middle-aged exterior, and an important part of me is still twelve years old. Granted, that's nothing to brag about, but it does help me when I sit down to write stories for that age group. What I remember best is the strength of feeling.
Emotions surge like electrical currents.
Joy makes you feel capable of flight. Anger puts murder in your heart. Love turns you mute. To be publicly embarrassed makes you want to die . To be ignored is to suffer the torture of a thousand cuts.