John Green - The Fault in Our Stars

ALSO BY JOHN GREEN

Looking for Alaska

An Abundance of Katherines

Paper Towns

Will Grayson, Will Grayson

WITH DAVID LEVITHAN

CHAPTER THREE

I stayed up pretty late that night reading The Price of Dawn. (Spoiler alert: The price of dawn is blood.) It wasnt An Imperial Affliction, but the protagonist, Staff Sergeant Max Mayhem, was vaguely likable despite killing, by my count, no fewer than 118 individuals in 284 pages.

So I got up late the next morning, a Thursday. Moms policy was never to wake me up, because one of the job requirements of Professional Sick Person is sleeping a lot, so I was kind of confused at first when I jolted awake with her hands on my shoulders.

Its almost ten, she said.

Sleep fights cancer, I said. I was up late reading.

It must be some book, she said as she knelt down next to the bed and unscrewed me from my large, rectangular oxygen concentrator, which I called Philip, because it just kind of looked like a Philip.

Mom hooked me up to a portable tank and then reminded me I had class. Did that boy give it to you? she asked out of nowhere.

By it, do you mean herpes?

You are too much, Mom said. The book, Hazel. I mean the book.

Yeah, he gave me the book.

I can tell you like him, she said, eyebrows raised, as if this observation required some uniquely maternal instinct. I shrugged. I told you Support Group would be worth your while.

Did you just wait outside the entire time?

Yes. I brought some paperwork. Anyway, time to face the day, young lady.

Mom. Sleep. Cancer. Fighting.

I know, love, but there is class to attend. Also, today is... The glee in Moms voice was evident.

Thursday?

Did you seriously forget?

Maybe?

Its Thursday, March twenty-ninth! she basically screamed, a demented smile plastered to her face.

You are really excited about knowing the date! I yelled back.

HAZEL! ITS YOUR THIRTY-THIRD HALF BIRTHDAY!

Ohhhhhh, I said. My mom was really super into celebration maximization. ITS ARBOR DAY! LETS HUG TREES AND EAT CAKE! COLUMBUS BROUGHT SMALLPOX TO THE NATIVES; WE SHALL RECALL THE OCCASION WITH A PICNIC!, etc. Well, Happy thirty-third Half Birthday to me, I said.

What do you want to do on your very special day?

Come home from class and set the world record for number of episodes of Top Chef watched consecutively?

Mom reached up to this shelf above my bed and grabbed Bluie, the blue stuffed bear Id had since I was, like, oneback when it was socially acceptable to name ones friends after their hue.

You dont want to go to a movie with Kaitlyn or Matt or someone? who were my friends.

That was an idea. Sure, I said. Ill text Kaitlyn and see if she wants to go to the mall or something after school.

Mom smiled, hugging the bear to her stomach. Is it still cool to go to the mall? she asked.

I take quite a lot of pride in not knowing whats cool, I answered.

* * *

I texted Kaitlyn, took a shower, got dressed, and then Mom drove me to school. My class was American Literature, a lecture about Frederick Douglass in a mostly empty auditorium, and it was incredibly difficult to stay awake. Forty minutes into the ninety-minute class, Kaitlyn texted back.

Awesomesauce. Happy Half Birthday. Castleton at 3:32?

Kaitlyn had the kind of packed social life that needs to be scheduled down to the minute. I responded:

Sounds good. Ill be at the food court.

Mom drove me directly from school to the bookstore attached to the mall, where I purchased both Midnight Dawns and Requiem for Mayhem, the first two sequels to The Price of Dawn, and then I walked over to the huge food court and bought a Diet Coke. It was 3:21.

I watched these kids playing in the pirate-ship indoor playground while I read. There was this tunnel that these two kids kept crawling through over and over and they never seemed to get tired, which made me think of Augustus Waters and the existentially fraught free throws.

Mom was also in the food court, alone, sitting in a corner where she thought I couldnt see her, eating a cheesesteak sandwich and reading through some papers. Medical stuff, probably. The paperwork was endless.

At 3:32 precisely, I noticed Kaitlyn striding confidently past the Wok House. She saw me the moment I raised my hand, flashed her very white and newly straightened teeth at me, and headed over.

She wore a knee-length charcoal coat that fit perfectly and sunglasses that dominated her face. She pushed them up onto the top of her head as she leaned down to hug me.

Darling, she said, vaguely British. How are you? People didnt find the accent odd or off-putting. Kaitlyn just happened to be an extremely sophisticated twenty-five-year-old British socialite stuck inside a sixteen-year-old body in Indianapolis. Everyone accepted it.

Im good. How are you?

I dont even know anymore. Is that diet? I nodded and handed it to her. She sipped through the straw. I do wish you were at school these days. Some of the boys have become downright edible.

Oh, yeah? Like who? I asked. She proceeded to name five guys wed attended elementary and middle school with, but I couldnt picture any of them.

Ive been dating Derek Wellington for a bit, she said, but I dont think it will last. Hes such a boy. But enough about me. What is new in the Hazelverse?

Nothing, really, I said.

Health is good?

The same, I guess?

Phalanxifor! she enthused, smiling. So you could just live forever, right?

Probably not forever, I said.

But basically, she said. What else is new?

I thought of telling her that I was seeing a boy, too, or at least that Id watched a movie with one, just because I knew it would surprise and amaze her that anyone as disheveled and awkward and stunted as me could even briefly win the affections of a boy. But I didnt really have much to brag about, so I just shrugged.

What in heaven is that? asked Kaitlyn, gesturing to the book.

Oh, its sci-fi. Ive gotten kinda into it. Its a series.

I am alarmed. Shall we shop?

We went to this shoe store. As we were shopping, Kaitlyn kept picking out all these open-toed flats for me and saying, These would look cute on you, which reminded me that Kaitlyn never wore open-toed shoes on account of how she hated her feet because she felt her second toes were too long, as if the second toe was a window into the soul or something. So when I pointed out a pair of sandals that would suit her skin tone, she was like, Yeah, but... the but being but they will expose my hideous second toes to the public, and I said, Kaitlyn, youre the only person Ive ever known to have toe-specific dysmorphia, and she said, What is that?

You know, like when you look in the mirror and the thing you see is not the thing as it really is.

Oh. Oh, she said. Do you like these? She held up a pair of cute but unspectacular Mary Janes, and I nodded, and she found her size and tried them on, pacing up and down the aisle, watching her feet in the knee-high angled mirrors. Then she grabbed a pair of strappy hooker shoes and said, Is it even possible to walk in these? I mean, I would just die and then stopped short, looking at me as if to say Im sorry, as if it were a crime to mention death to the dying. You should try them on, Kaitlyn continued, trying to paper over the awkwardness.

Id sooner die, I assured her.

I ended up just picking out some flip-flops so that I could have something to buy, and then I sat down on one of the benches opposite a bank of shoes and watched Kaitlyn snake her way through the aisles, shopping with the kind of intensity and focus that one usually associates with professional chess. I kind of wanted to take out