Empire Falls

stopped, and there’s no sign of her pink Adidases. Mrs. Roderigue, who seems to have gone away somewhere and come back again, is urging Tick to raise her head, and this time she discovers that she can. She’s even more surprised to see that the room has emptied and that all the kids are clustered out in the hall, peering in at her. According to the clock on the wall, ten minutes have passed. Mrs. Roderigue is running her thumb along the metal edge of Candace’s chair, apparently trying to locate a surface sharp enough to slice a kid’s thumb open to the bone. The principal, Mr. Meyer, elbows his way into the room, then comes over and puts his hand on Tick’s forehead.
    “I wouldn’t get too close,” Mrs. Roderigue says. “She looks like she might puke.”
    Mr. Meyer reacts visibly to this intelligence, though Tick can’t tell for sure whether he’s startled by that possibility or by his teacher’s crudeness.
    “I think I’m okay,” Tick says, in case it’s the former that’s worrying her principal. “What happened?”
    “You fainted, angel,” Mr. Meyer said, making her like him for the very first time. “The sight of all that—”
    He breaks off his thought, worried perhaps that the word “blood” might have the same effect as the sight of blood. “You want me to call your mom and dad?” He catches himself as soon as he says this, probably remembering that her parents are separated.
    Tick, wiggling the fingers of her left hand, repeats that she thinks she’s going to be all right. The fingers now feel like they’re being poked by a thousand needles, but otherwise there’s no pain, which means she’s going to come out of this in a new place, which is a relief, not having to enter that same dark tunnel of pain again.
    After instructing her to remain where she is, Mr. Meyer takes Mrs. Roderigue aside. Tick is still able to overhear small snatches of their conversation, Mrs. Roderigue explaining how Candace told her she’d sliced her thumb open. Now it’s Mr. Meyer’s turn to examine the back of the chair, turning it upside down, running his own thumb along the metal surfaces tentatively, as if he isn’t sure whether he really wants to solve this mystery or not. Tick reaches under the table, as if for her backpack, picks up the Exacto knife, and slips it into one of the open side pouches.
    When she straightens up, shouldering her backpack, Mr. Meyer takes her gently by the elbow and guides her toward the door. There she catches a glimpse of Zack Minty out in the corridor and a wave of nausea passes over her quickly, her knees wobbly for a second, and Mr. Meyer catches her around the waist. Normally Tick hates being touched, especially by adults, but this time she’s grateful.
    “The nurse’s room for you, young lady,” Mr. Meyer says, steering her in the right direction. It occurs to Tick then that she and Candace have sink duty this week and they haven’t done their cleanup, which Mrs. Roderigue has made clear is the most important part of the whole artistic process. When she glances back into the room, she sees Mrs. Roderigue standing at the Blue table, as if to suggest that it’s safe to visit Blue now that its artists are all gone. She’s looking at Tick’s snake with an expression of extreme distaste.

CHAPTER 5
    T HE DONUT SHOP in Empire Falls had always been one of Max Roby’s favorite places because of its smoking policy, which was, “Go ahead. See if we care.” Miles wondered what his father was going to do next year when all Maine restaurants would by law become smoke-free. For the present there was still a cigarette machine by the door, and with only eight booths and a counter with half a dozen stools there could be no nonsmoking section, which pleased the old man even more than being allowed to light up. Max was the kind of guy who created his own atmosphere, and he took particular pleasure, it seemed to Miles, in knowing that other people had to breathe his air when he was done with it. Actually, smoking was only one manifestation of this phenomenon. Max had always enjoyed breaking his own containment. He liked to stand close to people when he talked; and when he was eating, food had a way of becoming airborne. Now, at seventy, he’d developed a sweet tooth. He would’ve eaten chocolate bars if his teeth had allowed it, but half of them were gone and the other half loose, so he settled for sugar donuts. By the time Max was finished with one, Miles, who usually