WHEN CAT LAY ON HER BED THAT NIGHT, HER FIRST NIGHT in the classroom, she couldn’t sleep. She was too happy to even want sleep. They’d learned it; she coaxed them to learn the names of the bones in the legs and arms. They’d liked the Latin words. She’d told them about the humerus, the funny bone. She’d watched the glow of pride spread from face to face with the acquisition of a smattering of Latin and the knowledge of the invisible bone structure inside each human being. Lying flat on her back, Cat knew she smelled bad, but she’d been too tired to bathe. Her body soaked up the cool from the bedroom air conditioner like a sponge. So what if her armpits reeked. The classroom was a closed oven. Maybe tomorrow night, if the windows at school could be opened just a crack….