The front of the school displays its every transition, as though every futile reform has been splashed across its facade:  Middle School of Arts and Sciences, Achievement First, now New Heights.  The only relic worth noticing is a piece of sculpture out front.  It is a true piece of art sandwiched like the school between the International Food Mart and the housing projects.  The inside of the building is as compelling as a jail.  Periodically, a cockroach darts across the linoleum floor and a foot comes down with a satisfying crunch.  There is neon lighting overhead and no air conditioning.  No matter how I dress, I find myself at the end of the day, sweaty and damp.  I am moving, always moving, down hallways, up stairs, touching children.  Where are you going?  Why are you late?  My fingertips gently prodding.  They are hot to my touch, their t-shirts fibrous with sweat.  They nod, yes, yes, miss, their eyes glassy and blind.