The Fault in Our Pants: A Parody of The Fault in Our Stars

by Steve Lookner

  ***

  The next morning I couldn’t stop worrying that Dr. Maria wouldn’t be able to work things out and the trip to Amsterdam wouldn’t happen. So I started crafting an email to Peter Van Houten about how I couldn’t come to Amsterdam, and could he please just tell me what happens to the characters, and that I’d be willing to exchange something for this information, and I attached to the email a photo of my boobs.

  But I didn’t send it. It was too pathetic, and also I knew that for the offer to be accepted I’d probably have to include a masturbation video.

  I went out to the backyard and called Augustus, because I was now incapable of five minutes without contact with or attempted contact with my significant other. As the phone rang, I looked at the old swing set my dad had brought home from Toys “R” Us when I was a little kid. I still remembered watching Dad assemble it, and trying it out for the first time. It was old and rusty now, and it made me sad to look at it.

  I hung up when I got Augustus’ voicemail and put down the phone. I kept looking at the swing set, thinking about how I’d had to stop playing outside when my lungs got really bad. The more I looked at the swing set, the sadder I got, and I just started crying and muttering stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid over and over again until the phone rang. It was Augustus.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hazel Grace, are you crying?”

  “Kind of?”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “‘Cause I want to go to Amsterdam and I don’t want to send a masturbation video and this old swing set is depressing me.”

  “I must see this old swing set of tears and masturbation video immediately.” he said. “I’ll be over in fifteen.”

  ***

  I heard the sliding-glass door open, and turned to see Augustus walking into the backyard. Because of his leg, it took him a second to sit down next to me. “Hi,” I said. He was looking past me, at the swing set.

  “That swing set actually looks pretty good!” he said. “If you like looking at diarrhea.”

  I laughed. Diarrhea jokes are always funny.

  “Thanks for coming over,” I said, and put my head on his shoulder.

  “We gotta do something about this swing set,” he said. “And your massive diarrhea.”

  I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it.

  ***

  We went inside and sat down on the couch right next to each other, the laptop resting half on his (fake) knee and half on mine. Augustus pulled up Craigslist and clicked the link to create an ad for Free Stuff.

  “We need a headline,” I said.

  “Swing Set Needs Home,” he said.

  “Desperately Lonely Swing Set Needs Loving Home,” I said.

  “Cute Swing Set Seeks Single or Couple for Casual Encounters,” he said.

  We went back and forth and wrote the ad together, editing each other as we went. We worked really well together, riffing on each other’s suggestions. Finally, after half an hour, we had what we felt was the perfect ad. It read:

  Free Swing Set

  83rd St. & Mill Rd.

  ***

  When I checked my email an hour later, I saw that we had a number of swing set suitors to choose from. In the end, we ended up picking a guy named David Rodriguez who’d included a picture of his kids, over a guy named Phillip McDonald who’d included a picture of his penis.

  Augustus asked if I wanted to go with him and Isaac to Support Group, but Support Group would require me doing something with long-term benefit to myself, so I passed. We were sitting on the couch together, and he pushed himself up to go, but then quickly reached down and squeezed my boob.

  “Augustus!” I said.

  “Friendly,” he said. He walked into the kitchen to say goodbye to Mom. Mom opened her arms to hug him, but instead of hugging her he squeezed Mom’s boob. He turned back to me. “See? Friendly.”

  I thought Mom might say something, but all she did was giggle.

  ***

  Later that night, I noticed I had an email from “Lidewij Vliegenthart,” which seemed like a perfect spam sender name. I was about the put the message in the spam folder when I noticed the subject line: “Your trip to Amsterdam.” I opened the email.

  Dear Hazel,

  I have just received word from the Genies that you will be visiting us next week. Peter and I are very much looking forward to it! Enclosed please find directions to Peter’s house from your hotel. Also please find a waiver releasing Peter, myself, Van Houten Enterprises LLC, and Axion Publishing Co. from any and all liability for any event that occurs on your trip, which includes (but is not limited to) serious injury, death, illness, and loss or destruction of property both related to and unrelated to your cancer symptoms, and also where “your trip” is defined as beginning concurrently with your departing your house for the airport and running through your return to your house from the airport, and where “liability” includes (but is not limited to) any lawsuit or other legal action that might be filed in the court systems of the United States of America, the Netherlands, or the European Union. Please sign and notarize all twelve (12) copies of the waiver and return them to me at your earliest convenience (but definitely before the 2nd of May).

  With all best wishes,

  Lidewij Vliegenthart

  Executive Assistant to Mr. Peter Van Houten

  cc:

  Peter Van Houten

  Gunther Dieten, Esq.

  Satish Poortier, Esq.

  Mauriette Drok, Esq.

  Vilem Kleihnjans, Esq.

  Tessel Havernik, Esq.

  Aad van der Vecht, Esq.

  Jarl Voormeulen, Esq.

  Piert Stenferink, Esq.

  Fia Seigers, Esq.

  Diederik Bruininga, Esq.

  ***

  “Mom!” I said. She didn’t answer. “MOM!” I shouted.

  She ran in. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve got to call the Genies and tell them the trip is on hold! I just got an email from Peter Van Houten’s assistant. They think we’re coming!”

  She just stared at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m not supposed to tell you until your father’s home.”

  “What?” I asked again.

  “Dr. Maria called me this morning and said if we could get her two hundred more dollars things could definitely be worked out. So I wired her the money and she called back telling me the trip was a go.”

  “MOM I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” I said, and hugged her.

  I texted Augustus:

  Still free May three? :-)

  He texted back immediately.

  Hell yes!!!!

  And then again a minute later.

  Call you in a bit. Need to cancel my alternate plans to lose my virginity.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The day before we left for Amsterdam, I went back to Support Group for the first time since meeting Augustus. Our house was having its annual pest spray by the exterminator, so I unfortunately had to leave the house and go somewhere.

  When I got to the meeting, I spotted Isaac and sat down next to him. “Hey Isaac, it’s Support Group Hazel,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “Hazel!” he said. “Cannot wait for our trip to Tokyo!”

  “Me neither,” I said. “I’ve been spending hours practicing my Japanese. Check it out.” I took out my phone and played an mp3 of a woman speaking fluent Japanese.

  “Amazing!” Isaac said. “I’d ask what else is new with you, but I already know, ‘cause Augustus never. Talks. About. Anything. Else.”

  When a guy spends most of his time thinking about a girl, it’s a real turnoff. But Augustus rejected convention, and instead of spending most of his time thinking about me, he spent all his time thinking about me. It was hot.

  “Okay folks, circle up!” said Patrick, and he began the meeting. I, meanwhile, began my own personal texting meeting. My meeting was rudely interrupted, however, when Patrick said my name. />
  “Hazel, we heard about your recent trip to the hospital,” Patrick said. “On behalf of the group, I just want to say we hope you get better soon.”

  This type of sentiment expressed toward cancer patients drove me crazy. Why does everyone think that cancer patients want to “get better”? How do you even know we’d like “getting better”? Maybe “getting better” is actually getting worse. Ever think of that?

  After Support Group, I stopped off at Isaac’s house to have lunch. When we were done eating our sandwiches, Isaac asked if I wanted to play a video game with him. I thought this was an odd request, but then Isaac added that they now had video games for blind people, which sounded intriguing. “Sure,” I said, “let’s do it.”

  He turned on the TV and a computer attached to it. The TV screen remained black, but a deep voice spoke from it.

  DECEPTION, the voice said. One player or two?

  “Two,” Isaac said.

  Players one and two, identify yourself.

  “Isaac,” Isaac said.

  “Hazel,” I said.

  Let the game begin.

  The voice began telling us what was happening.

  You awake in a dark empty room, approximately twenty feet square.

  “Is there a light switch?” Isaac said.

  Yes.

  “Turn on light switch,” Isaac said.

  Nothing changes, because you can’t see.

  Isaac turned to me. “Try something,” he said.

  “Um,” I said, “are there any doors?”

  Yes, there is one door.

  “Open door,” I said.

  You open the door to reveal a monster. If you could see it, you’d think it was really scary.

  “Run away from door,” Isaac said.

  You start running backwards, but you trip on a bench and fall, because you can’t see.

  We played for a while, and then I told Isaac I needed to head home.

  Because I had a trip to pack for.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mom and I had to fit everything into one suitcase. I couldn’t carry one, and while Mom could carry two, she’d already filled one with her bongs.

  The day of our flight, Mom insisted that we get up early so we could eat breakfast with Dad before he left for work. I ate scrambled eggs while my parents had these homemade versions of Egg McMuffins that they liked.

  “Why is breakfast only in the morning?” I asked them.

  “Hazel, eat.”

  “But why?” I asked. “How did breakfast get stuck with morning exclusivity? Why couldn’t dinner be in the morning, and breakfast be in the evening?”

  “When you come back, we’ll have eggs at night,” Dad said. “Deal?”

  “I don’t want ‘eggs at night,’” I said. “I want breakfast at night.”

  Anyway, I knew it was a bit stupid, but I felt kind of bad for breakfast.

  After we finished eating, Dad walked us to the car. He made Mom go over his shopping list for the Amsterdam pot brownie store one final time. “I want ten amnesia trance, five OG kush, five ghost train haze, and ten kushadelic,” he said. “Oh shit, I almost forgot: also three blueberry yum yum.”

  Mom and I both gave Dad big farewell hugs. “Hold down the fort for us,” Mom said.

  “I will,” Dad said. “And hey, if you guys are having a ton of fun, and wanna stay an extra day or two, or even a week, or a couple of weeks, or a month, it’s totally fine. And if it’s really awesome and you want to get a permanent place there, and only come back and visit here a few times a year, that’s completely cool too. I love you guys.”

  “I love you too, Dad,” I said.

  “Love you,” Mom said, and she kissed Dad goodbye and drove us off to pick up Augustus.

  When we got to Augustus’ house, Mom wanted me to stay in the car to rest, but I went to the door with her anyway. As we approached the house, we could hear shouting inside. At first I couldn’t tell who was talking, but then I heard what was definitely Augustus’ voice yell, “BECAUSE IT’S MY LIFE, MOM. IT BELONGS TO ME!” Mom quickly spun me back toward the car.

  “We can’t eavesdrop, Hazel,” she said. We walked back to the car, and I texted Augustus that we were outside whenever he was ready.

  I stared at the house for a while. The weird thing about houses is that most of people’s lives happen inside of them, but they don’t look like people. They look like houses.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Augustus.

  Sorry. Drank directly from the milk carton. Mom gets crazy about that stuff. Be out in a sec.

  Two minutes later Augustus emerged from the house and limped down the front walk, a roller bag behind him. “Hi Hazel Grace and Mrs. Lancaster!” he said. To make getting into the car easier, he took off his artificial leg. He climbed into the back seat, put his artificial leg in the cup holder, and Mom started the car.

  “Next stop, Amsterdam!” she said.

  ***

  Which was not quite true. Our next stop was the airport security checkpoint. The TSA guy at the front of the line kept shouting how our bags had better not contain any liquids over three ounces. “That rule’s like ten years old,” I said to Augustus. “Do they really need a town crier to announce it every thirty seconds?”

  “It’s like having a guy at a stoplight announcing that red means stop,” Augustus said. I laughed.

  When we got to the front of the line, the TSA guy looked at my oxygen tank and then stared at me like I was an idiot.

  “What?” I said.

  He pointed at the tank. “Does this look like less than three ounces to you?” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  He shook his head, unhooked the tank, and threw it in a blue garbage barrel, which was halfway full of oxygen tanks.

  “You can buy another one in the gift shop after security.”

  ***

  We got to the gate about an hour before our scheduled boarding time. The gate area was still pretty empty.

  “As much as I hate to leave this hopping party,” Augustus said, “I’m gonna pick up some lunch. Can I get you guys anything?”

  “I’m good,” Mom said. “But thank you for asking.”

  “Could you get me some dinner?” I said.

  Augustus tilted his head at me, confused.

  “You mean lunch?” he asked.

  “No, I mean dinner.”

  He was even more confused.

  “Hazel has developed an issue with the rigid time constraints which we apply to meal types,” Mom said.

  “I just think it’s embarrassing that we all walk through life blindly accepting that lunch is fundamentally associated with noontime any more than dinner is,” I said.

  “I want to talk about this more,” Augustus said. “I think. But I also know this will require my full concentration, so I must eliminate the distraction of hunger. I’ll be right back.”

  ***

  When Augustus hadn’t shown up after thirty minutes, I asked Mom if she thought something was wrong, and she looked up from her magazine only long enough to say, “He probably just went to take a shit.”

  Finally, just when they started preboarding people who might need a bit of extra time, and also the assholes who don’t need extra time but claim to, I saw Augustus fast-limping toward us carrying a McDonald’s bag.

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  “Sorry,” he said. “The line was super-long.” He offered me his hand. I took it, and we walked side-by-side toward the gate to preboard.

  “Wait,” I said. “Where’s Isaac? Isn’t he supposed to be flying with us?”

  “He is,” Augustus said. “I gave him a little something ‘to help him sleep on the flight.’ It’s actually an industrial-strength sedative which will knock him out ‘til we get there. That way we won’t have to explain away the pilot’s announcements about the temperature in Amsterdam.”

  Just then I spotted Isaac, sleeping in a wheelchair, being pushed down the ramp toward the plane by an a
irplane worker.

  “God you’re good,” I said.

  ***

  We’d settled into our three-person row on the plane: Mom in the aisle seat, me in the middle, and Augustus at the window. Augustus took a bite of his burger, then put it down. “Listen, I’m sorry I avoided the gate area,” he said. “The McDonald’s line wasn’t really that long. I just...I just...”

  “You were just embarrassed to be seen with a girl with an oxygen tank?” I asked.

  “No. I was embarrassed to be seen with a 6.”

  That boy. “Well I might be a 6,” I said, “but by the time me and my wolverine nails are done with you, you’re gonna be a negative-two.” And I leaned over and began mock attacking his face.

  The PA system beeped and the Fasten Seatbelts light turned on. “Lucky for your face,” I said. I curtailed my attack and we fastened our belts.

  The plane pulled away from the gate and began to taxi toward the runway. Augustus, looking a bit nervous, pulled out a cigarette and placed it in his mouth. About three and a half seconds later, a stewardess rushed over. “Sir! You can’t smoke on this plane. Or on any plane, for that matter.”

  Augustus was about to explain that he wasn’t actually going to light the cigarette, but before he could get a word out, the stewardess said, “Oh wait, you’re one of the passengers with cancer, right?” He nodded. “My apologies,” she said, and she pulled out a lighter and offered Augustus a light.

  “Thanks, but I don’t actually smoke,” Augustus said.