He keeps expecting Nurse Hildegard to tell him to leave, since it's past lights out. But she hasn't, and he's grateful for that. Even though he'd hate himself for it, and there would be no moving Bruno if their positions were switched, he knows he'd probably do exactly what she said.
There's still a kind of numb shock that he's here at all. Normal things that would do in the rest of humanity have no business touching Bruno—and neither do croquet balls barreling across the highway at warp speed. What's more worrisome is that after he and Mark half dragged, half carried Bruno to the infirmary, Nurse Hildegard told them that he would probably be awake within the hour. It's been nearly seven, and since about hour four, he hasn't been able to keep from asking himself the question he most desperately wants to avoid.
What happens if he never wakes up?
Mark brought him his book bag and some food from the dining hall at dinnertime. He said all the guys were worried, but apparently sensed that Boots didn't want to talk and left immediately.
After a feeble attempt at eating, he tried to start on his homework, but it's hard to care about Oscar Wilde or the Peloponnesian War when his best friend is lying there looking so darn lifeless. And that means for the most part he's just sat here looking on, stomach churning, willing Bruno's eyes to flicker open.
He tries to remind himself that the chances of going over from a crack on the head are pretty slim. But Boots is, by nature, a worrier, and so visions of brain damage and hemorrhaging took his thoughts hostage a long time ago. He keeps reaching back into the depths of his mind, only to come up blank and ruefully wish he'd paid better attention to the material concerning head traumas that they covered in health class.
Right now, he's feeling very keenly something one rarely feels keeping company with Bruno, and that is helplessness. With Bruno, there's no standing by and waiting. The initiative is there for the taking. He thinks he can render a solution to any problem, is convinced that everything can be fixed, one way or another. He believes he can come out on top in anything through sheer will and determination.
Why should this be any different?
"Come on, Bruno," Boots finally says with a bravado he doesn't feel, "you're not going to let life outfox you, are you?"
Bruno doesn't stir. Boots sighs.
"Look, I'll tell you what. If you wake up, I'll go along with your next scheme, no questions asked. Short sheet Mr. Sturgeon's bed? Sure. Kidnap the Pope? Absolutely…"
In that moment, he sees a little of his best friend in himself. Bargaining with unconscious bodies seems suspiciously like something Bruno would do. It doesn't change anything, and he's just as helpless as before. But he tried, he thinks detachedly.
He intends to stay up the whole night, and he thinks his worry will be enough to carry him through. But the cramming he did for today's geometry test begins to take its toll, and he soon slips into a restless sleep.
Upon hearing heavy breathing, one of Bruno's eyes opens surreptitiously, and a wicked smile crosses his lips as he beholds his slumbering roommate.
"You don't know what you just signed up for, Boots…"