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

by Steve Lookner

  I guess it ended because Anna died? Cruel. Call me. Hope all’s ok.

  Everything ok?

  Hey, not sure my phone’s been working, just wanted to make sure you got my texts.

  You there?

  Helllooooooo?

  Wtf????

  Hey are you fucking there?

  I swear, if you’re with another dude I will fucking kill you.

  When I got home I went out into the backyard and called Augustus. He picked up on the first ring. “Haaaa I was just joking in the last sixteen texts haaaa,” he said.

  “Augustus,” I said, “Welcome to the sweet, sweet torture of reading An Imperial Afflict–” I stopped when I heard sobbing on the other end of the line. “Augustus, are you ok?”

  “I’m grand,” he said. “But Isaac is definitely not. His girlfriend dumped him today.”

  Sweet! I thought. Drama!

  “I’ll be right over.”

  ***

  As I walked down the stairs to Augustus’ basement, I could see Augustus and Isaac sitting in the two gaming chairs playing a shoot-’em-up video game. But when I got closer, I realized that Augustus was playing whereas Isaac was just crying. Augustus’ and Isaac’s characters were coming under massive gunfire, largely because Isaac’s character wasn’t actually doing anything.

  Augustus nudged Isaac’s shoulder. “Dude, work with me here.”

  Isaac let out a horrendous wail. “She said always! Always always always! How could she do this?”

  “Isaac,” I said, “you do realize that ‘always’ no longer applies if the person you’re dating goes blind, or becomes deaf, or suffers some other significant physical deformity.”

  Isaac looked confused. “What?” he said.

  “Think about it: what fun is dating a blind person? What do you even do with them? ‘Hey, want to watch a movie?’ And who wants to listen to that infernal ‘Are you there? Are you there?’ over and over again? Yeah thanks but no thanks.”

  “Hazel Grace is right,” said Augustus. “You know how on OkCupid they give you options for what qualities you want your match to have? And there’s no choice for sighted/not-sighted? That’s because it’s assumed.”

  Isaac shook his head defiantly. “Well I believe in true love,” he said. “And she promised. She promised me always!” He stood up, got a look of rage, and kicked the gaming chair, which fell onto Augustus’ bed.

  “Yes!” Augustus said. “Beat the shit out of that chair.” Isaac climbed up onto the bed and continued pounding the chair. “Get it out of your system, dude! Pain is painful.” It was a quote from An Imperial Affliction.

  Augustus looked over at me and lifted an unlit cigarette to his mouth. “I cannot stop thinking about that book.”

  “Totally, right?”

  Isaac had moved on from the chair and was now beating up a pillow. “Hold on,” Augustus said. He went over to Isaac. “Dude, pillows don’t break. You need something that breaks.” Isaac looked around, and walked menacingly over to the TV.

  “Dude, no, not that!” Augustus said. He handed Isaac a basketball trophy.

  “You sure?” Isaac said.

  “It’s fine,” Augustus said. “I could use the extra shelf space.” He turned back to me. “So Van Houten never said what happens to all the characters?”

  “Nope,” I said. “He moved to Amsterdam, became a recluse, and never answered any of my letters.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Isaac wind up like a baseball pitcher and throw the trophy through the TV screen.

  “Feel better?” Augustus asked.

  “Not particularly,” Isaac mumbled.

  “That’s the thing about pain,” Augustus said, looking back at me. “It’s painful.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I didn’t speak to Augustus again for five days. I had called him on the night of Isaac’s meltdown, so as the rules go it was his turn to call. But he didn’t. Now it’s not like I spent all day staring at the phone, waiting for him to call. But I did wonder whether I’d fucked the whole thing up by not at least giving him an hj.

  Sunday night I was eating dinner with my parents when my phone rang, but I couldn’t check it because we had a strict no-phone-during-dinner rule. Since we were vegetarian, we also had a strict no-flavor-during-dinner rule.

  After eating a meal which failed to supply numerous basic nutrients, I said, “Can I be excused?” and my parents nodded. I grabbed my phone and ran outside to the patio and checked my missed calls. Augustus Waters. I called him.

  “Bet you were thinking you fucked it up by not giving me an hj,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Well you didn’t,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been wanting to call you on almost a minutely basis, but I’ve been waiting until I had assembled a coherent set of thoughts about An Imperial Affliction. Because it would have been unthinkable to take three minutes of my time to call and see how you were doing if I had not first assembled a coherent set of thoughts about An Imperial Affliction.”

  “So what’d you think of it?” I said.

  “I think the best way to put it is that it’s like...like...”

  “Like?” I said, teasing him.

  “Like I would’ve been happy reading it even if I weren’t just reading it so a girl would have sex with me.”

  “Wow, I guess you really liked it,” I said.

  “Except – and this is one big ‘except’ – it’s a betrayal of the unwritten contract between author and reader when you don’t end your book properly. I so want to know what happens to the characters. You said he didn’t answer your letters?”

  “Yup, no response.”

  “And he’s a recluse?”

  “Yup.”

  “Impossible to track down.”

  “Correct.”

  “Completely unreachable.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “No way to talk with him whatsoever, and if there is such a way, then you’re a complete fucking idiot.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Dear Mr. Waters,” Augustus said. “I am writing to thank you for your email of April the twelfth.”

  “Augustus, what the hell?”

  “I very much appreciated your kind words about An Imperial Affliction,” Augustus continued.

  “No friggin’ way. How did you find him?”

  “I just did a Google search,” Augustus said. “His personal email address was like the third result.”

  “A what search?” I asked.

  “Google.”

  “Google?”

  “I’ll explain later,” he said, and continued reading. “To answer your questions, Mr. Waters: no, I have not written anything else and do not plan to. And yes, the book has gotten me laid by a number of cute high school and college girls. Yours most sincerely, Peter Van Houten.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Can I have his email address?”

  “Can I have that hj?”

  ***

  After assuring Augustus that I’d at least consider an hj, I spent the next two hours composing an email to Peter Van Houten. This was more time than I’d spent on all my classes in my entire life combined.

  Dear Mr. Van Houten,

  My name is Hazel Grace Lancaster. My friend Augustus Waters, who read An Imperial Affliction at my recommendation, just received an email back from you. You should therefore write me back too, because unlike Augustus, I am a true Peter Van Houten fan and not just a starfucker.

  I understand from your email to Augustus that you are not planning to publish any more books. That seems dumb. As a three-year survivor of Stage IV cancer, I can tell you that you got everything right in An Imperial Affliction. I wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions about what happens after the novel ends? I’d really like to know what happens to Anna’s dad. Does he marry Veronica Roth? Also, does he maybe get a pet unicorn? It would be really, really cool if he got a pet unicorn. Also, if it turns out that Anna’s dad ends up having more kids, what happens
to them? And to their kids if they have kids? Also, remember when Anna has coffee with Claire on page 239? What happens to the barista? And to Claire? Also, what happens to every other living thing either directly or indirectly referred to in the book?

  Yours with great admiration,

  Hazel Grace Lancaster

  (age 16)

  After I sent it, I called Augustus and we stayed up late talking about An Imperial Affliction. We laughed for ten straight minutes at the hilarious chapter where Anna goes on a date with a guy and it turns out he has a cannula fetish.

  “Speaking of dating,” Augustus said, “when was your last good kiss?”

  I didn’t want to tell him I’d never had a good kiss. “Yesterday,” I said. “How ‘bout you?”

  “Well I had some good kisses with my ex-girlfriend, Caroline Mathers.”

  “Whatever happened with you guys, anyway?” I asked.

  “Caroline is no longer suffering from personhood.”

  “Oh,” I said, acting like I knew what he meant even though I didn’t.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  There was about twenty seconds of silence, and then I realized what Augustus meant.

  “Oh she died! Ha, I get it now. ‘Suffering from personhood.’ Funny. Got it.”

  I was super happy Caroline Mathers was dead because that eliminated the threat of Augustus dumping me for her, but I figured I should act empathetic. “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  “Not your fault, Hazel Grace.”

  I’d started to feel sleepy, which wasn’t surprising, since it was past one in the morning. “Okay, I gotta go to bed,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I giggled and said, “Okay.” And then the line was quiet but not dead. All I could hear was Augustus’ breathing, which was now getting heavier, and also the sound of something rubbing. It was like we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone, or on certain pay-per-minute internet sites.

  “Okay,” said Augustus, a little louder.

  “Okay,” I said, and giggled again.

  “Okay,” said Augustus, louder.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “OKAY,” said Augustus, even louder.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “OHKAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!” Augustus shouted. There was a pause. “Oops, now I gotta go,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said. Augustus hung up.

  We had our new word. Our “always.”

  It was okay, indeed.

  ***

  On Thursday during American History class, I was in the middle of five separate FaceTime chats when I got a text from Augustus.

  Isaac out of surgery. Went well. He’s officially NEC.

  NEC means “no evidence of cancer.” This was good. Then I got a second text.

  But he’s now blind, so there’s that.

  That afternoon, Mom let me take the car to drive to Memorial to visit Isaac. When I got to Isaac’s room and peered inside, I froze. Isaac just looked so...sad. He had bandages on both his eyes, and the nurse was doing something to him but he didn’t even notice, because he was so depressed. I briefly considered not even going in, but I had to.

  “Hi Isaac,” I said. “How you doin’?”

  “Who is it?” Isaac said. That’s right, he couldn’t see me. He sounded even more sad than he looked.

  “It’s...it’s Monica, your ex-girlfriend,” I said.

  “IT IS? MONICA???” He’d done a total 180. Now he was happier than I’d ever seen him before.

  “Uh, yeah, it’s definitely Monica, no joking whatsoever.” I tried to sound like Monica, even though I had no idea what she sounded like.

  “You sound a bit different,” Isaac said.

  “Well, you know how when you have a cold, and you can’t smell, that affects how things taste?” I said.

  “Sure,” Isaac said.

  “When you lose your vision, that affects how things sound.”

  “Makes sense,” he said. “It’s so great to see you. Well not ‘see see’ you, but you know. Can I give you a hug?”

  “Isaac,” I said, “you can give me more than that.”

  I proceeded to make out with him. I even let him feel my boobs, but only outside the shirt because the nurse told me inside the shirt was against hospital rules.

  As I was about to leave, Isaac told me that even though he’d gone blind today, it was the best day of his life. I felt a little bad that I hadn’t been completely honest with him, but in my heart I knew I’d done the right thing.

  “Always,” I told him, and left.

  ***

  The next morning, as I had done every morning since emailing Peter Van Houten, I woke up early and checked my email. But this morning was different. Because this morning, waiting for me in my inbox, was a reply from Peter Van Houten.

  Dear Hazel,

  Thank you for your email. I’m glad to hear you liked the book. Unfortunately, I cannot answer your questions, at least not in writing, because such answers would constitute a sequel to An Imperial Affliction, which you might then publish, which would lead to even more annoying emails asking more annoying questions about what happens to the characters. For the same reason, I can’t answer your questions over phone or Skype, because they might be recorded.

  However, I can offer you this: if you are ever in Amsterdam, you are welcome to visit me at my home and we can discuss your questions in person. You can even stay over! I don’t have a couch, but my bed is really big, and we can both sleep in it without us having to touch. I promise.

  Yours most sincerely,

  Peter Van Houten

  p.s. The above offer assumes that “Hazel” is a female name in America.

  “WHAAAAAT?!” I shouted. Mom ran in to see what was wrong. “Nothing,” I assured her, and told her that Peter Van Houten had invited me to Amsterdam. “Omigod, I have to go,” I said.

  “Hazel, you know we love you and would do anything for you,” she said, “but we just don’t have the money right now–”

  “I know,” I said, cutting her off. It had been silly to even consider it. I knew that the reason my parents didn’t have much money, and therefore couldn’t afford a trip to Amsterdam, was me. I’d sapped the family savings with hospital stays and Cancera copays and cell phone bills, and Mom and Dad had been forced to take on additional work just to get by. For example, for the past several years Dad had been making extra money as a sperm donor, and when Cancera prices went up, he started selling videos of himself producing the sperm.

  I called Augustus to tell him about Van Houten’s offer. Augustus Waters-style, I just read him Van Houten’s email instead of saying hello.

  “Pretty cool,” he said.

  “But how am I going to get to Amsterdam?”

  “Do you have a Wish?” he asked. He was referring to The Genie Foundation, a charity devoted to granting sick kids one wish.

  “No,” I said sadly.

  “Why? What’d you do?”

  “I was eleven years old,” I said.

  “You didn’t.”

  I said nothing.

  “You did not do that.”

  I said nothing.

  “Hazel GRACE!” he shouted. “You did not use your one Wish to ask for a thousand more wishes.”

  “Actually a million more wishes,” I mumbled.

  “I assume you’re aware that if a person wishes for more wishes, the Genie Foundation refuses to grant wishes to their children or to any other of their descendants for eternity.”

  “They made me well aware of that in their reply to my wish,” I said. I decided I needed to change the subject. “Hey shouldn’t you be in school right now?”

  “I’m playing hooky to visit Isaac,” he said.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Amazing. Did you know Monica came and visited him yesterday?”

  “You’re cutting out. M
ust be a bad signal in the hospital. Call you later!” I hung up.

  ***

  On Saturday, my parents and I went to the Broad Ripple farmers’ market. Like all farmers’ markets, there was a wide selection of spoiled fruit and vegetables that had been rotting in the sun all day.

  My phone rang. It was Augustus.

  “Are you at your house?” he asked.

  “Nope, farmers’ market,” I said.

  “That was a trick question. I already knew the answer, because I am currently at your house.”

  “Oh...well I guess we’ll see you soon?”

  “Awesome,” he said. “Hey while you’re there, could you pick me up some really shitty preserves?”

  ***

  Augustus was sitting on our steps as we pulled into the driveway. He was wearing a Viking hat and a Dirk Nowitzki basketball jersey, a wardrobe that seemed quite out of character, though it did look good on him.

  We parked and got out of the car. Dad pointed at Augustus’ jersey. “Dirk Nowitzki. Nice,” Dad said. “He’s one of my favorite players.”

  “Best Dutch player ever,” Augustus said.

  “You mean German,” Dad said. Augustus looked confused.

  I walked over to Augustus and gave him a hug. “What’s with the Viking hat?” I asked.

  “Goes with the theme,” Augustus said.

  “And the theme is...Norway?”

  Augustus looked confused.

  My mom came up and waved hello to Augustus.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lancaster,” Augustus said. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take your daughter out for a bit.”

  “Oooo, where,” she asked.

  “Shhhh, it’s a secret,” Augustus said, and he leaned over and whispered in Mom’s ear.

  “Sushi isn’t Dutch,” she said. “You kids have fun.”