The Fault in Our Pants: A Parody of “The Fault in Our Stars”
The Fault in Our Pants: Chapter 8

We had a big Cancer Team Meeting a couple days later. Every so often, my doctors and social workers and physical therapists and whoever else got together around a big conference table and discussed my situation.

For the first half-hour, the team talked about my current treatment and how effectively it was working, how long I had to live, blah blah blah. I can’t tell you exactly what they said, because I texted through the whole thing.

Then they asked me if I had any questions, and I asked if I could travel to Amsterdam. The entire table literally laughed out loud.

Then they realized I wasn’t joking. There was an awkward silence.

But then Dr. Maria spoke. “I don’t see why not,” Dr. Maria said.

The entire table except for Dr. Maria literally laughed out loud.

“I’m serious,” Dr. Maria said.

“Are you out of your mind?” said Dr. Simons.

“Dr. Maria,” said Dr. Lin, “I have been working in the oncology field for over thirty years, and that is the single stupidest thing I have ever heard anyone say.”

“Hey Dr. Maria,” said Dr. Henrikkson, “When you’re buying Hazel the ticket to Amsterdam, don’t forget to buy the ticket for the connecting flight to heaven.”

The entire table except for Dr. Maria laughed out loud.

“What are you a doctor of, having your head up your ass?” said Dr. Singh.

The entire table except for Dr. Maria laughed out loud.

“Dr. Maria? More like Dr. Moron-aria,” said Dr. Wilson.

The entire table except for Dr. Maria laughed out loud.

“More like Dr. Stupid Idiot,” said Dr. Simons.

The entire table except for Dr. Maria laughed out loud.

“I’m Dr. Maria,” said Dr. Lin in a retarded voice, flailing his arms about. “I like sending cancer patients on transcontinental flights.”

The entire table except for Dr. Maria laughed out loud.

***

After the meeting, Dr. Maria pulled me aside in the hallway and apologized that the team hadn’t approved my trip to Amsterdam. She then told me that if I got her five hundred bucks she might still be able to make it happen.

***

Augustus called that night after dinner. I picked up, saying, “Bad news,” and he said, “Crap, what?”

I explained to him that the fate of the Amsterdam trip was now in the hands of Dr. Maria (because thanks to my parents, five hundred dollars was now also in the hands of Dr. Maria).

Augustus moaned. “So much for my foolproof plan to get laid by having you agree to take a trip with me, thereby obligating yourself to sleep with me,” he said. He let out a sad sigh. “I’m gonna die a virgin.”

“You’re a virgin?” I asked, surprised.

“Hazel Grace, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” he said. I said I did. “Please draw a circle, and label it virgins.” I did. “Now draw a smaller circle within that and label it people who’ve given themselves oral.” I did. “Now draw an even smaller circle within that and label it seventeen-year-old guys with one leg.”

I laughed, and he laughed, and we proceeded to talk about Peter Van Houten’s amazingly brilliant analysis of Shakespeare in his letter, and even though I was in bed and he was in his basement, it really felt like we were back in that uncreated third space, a space where I could hold the interest of a really hot guy because he was still a virgin and hadn’t yet learned how to have game with women.

***

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 replace directions to Peter’s house from your hotel. Also please replace 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.