Hey Guys! So I decided to try my hand at a fanfic (This is my first!) and I decided to write about The Fault In Our Stars, because the story really touched me. This is set in a world where Augustus Waters does not have cancer and Isaac is not blind. Also, it's set in England, because I'd be terrible at writing an American story as I am not American! :D If this story gets any readers, I will update as often as I can – though it shouldn't be less than once a week! Drop me a review if you like it! Thanks for your time spent reading this!
"My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations."
I was not looking forward to going back to college.
Sure, I was seventeen, had good grades and an amazing family. In the first twelve years of my life, I had won multiple hockey awards, participated in three different debating societies and received an award that stated me as the most enigmatic girl in school.
That was before the Cancer.
I'd spent most of my teenage years fighting it off; I had spent four of my birthdays in hospital, two of which unconscious, and I had never been out drinking with my friends, never been to a pool party, never been-
Normal.
Like them. Like everyone else. Like the girls that walked around college like they owned the place, as though the horrors of the world couldn't touch them, as though they were invincible. They wore highly revealing clothes and tossed their hair once every 0.0003 seconds. They went to the bathroom, not to pee, but to reapply their already inch-thick makeup and pull their bras up. They talked about who they slept with that weekend, what test they didn't revise for ('Oh, I'll just show Mr. Michaels a good time and then he has to give me an 'A', right?') and what girl had topped their hit list for that week.
They were vapid and hostile. I avoided them. Or they avoided me. Seventy-five percent of the time, I was ignored, and I was happy about that. Ten percent of the time, they shot me pitiful stares with their botox-filled lips jutted out, as though I was a dog they'd just witnessed being kicked.
The other fifteen percent of the time, they played buddy-buddy with me, buttering me up to see if they could gain some Cancer perks. They didn't have a signed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. They didn't have Theo James' signed poster. They didn't have Emeli Sande's signed selfie. I did.
But I'd trade it all to be healthy again.
"Hazel Grace Lancaster!" Mum's voice echoes around the house. "We have to leave in five minutes!"
"I know, mum." I call back and then sigh, looking around my room. It seems bare without my few possessions. Everything I own is packed into two suitcases. All the posters are gone, my reading lamp is gone. My dog-eared copy of An Imperial Affliction is no longer sitting on my bedside unit. My bed is stripped and now resembles a hospital bed. I shiver and turn away, not liking the memories that resurface.
"Hazel?" Dad pokes his head around the door. "Come on, sweet, your mum's growing stressed."
"I know, Dad, I just..." I shrug, silently mourning the death of my old room.
"It's hard, huh?" He says, and I know he understands. I nod and he pulls me into a warm embrace. "Hey...It'll be fun." He croons, when I start to cry into his chest. "You love English Lit, right? And you'll make loads of new friends."
"Don't be stupid. I'm a grenade." I say. He sighs, and I know he is rolling his eyes. This is a common argument between us. I'm a grenade – the girl with the cancer. One day, I'm going to blow up, and I don't want to take others with me. Mum and Dad – they've already invested so much into my life; they're already attached. I can't save them. "Besides, the term has already started."
"People won't judge you by your cancer."
"They'll be too afraid to like me." I wipe my tears angrily, my fingers knocking my cannula, the very thing that keeps me alive. I sigh and change the subject. "Can you take my bags downstairs, please?"
"Of course, sweet." He ruffles my hair and I growl and dodge his hand. He picks up my bags while I attempt to flatten my pageboy haircut. He yanks my bags down the stairs and I follow morosely with my oxygen tank. I glance back into my old room and exhale.
"Bye." I say and then I tug my tank down the stairs.
The college is bustling with activity, people milling about, playing ball, studying for exams, and yet it all seems to stop when my parents pull into the car park. People stare as I step out and there's a small scuffle when my oxygen tank gets lodged in the footwell of the car. I tug on it, swearing angrily, my cheeks blazing. Why can't I be normal? God damn it, God damn it, God damn it.
"Hazel, honey." It's mum at my shoulder. She unhooks the oxygen tank from the seatbelt and pulls it out with an ease that only makes me angrier. "What's the matter?"
"They're staring and I hate it." It takes every ounce of my willpower not to stomp my feet. "Why are people so cruel?"
"Don't be silly; they're not staring." Dad says, retrieving my bags from the trunk of the car. He sets them down carefully. It almost makes me laugh, seeing my Dad tug two pink, butterfly suitcases across the car park, but then I remember that he's doing it because I can't, and my smile quickly dies.
The crowd seems to part for me, and I can't decide if it makes me feel famous, or if it makes me feel like I have a massive, contagious wart on the end of my nose. I take a deep breath, so deep, that it hurts my chest.
Relax. I tell myself. You're doing this for the Lit. You have to learn more.
We sign in at the reception and the clerk gives me my room keys, eyeing me sympathetically.
"Oh, darling, we have allocated you a room on the ground floor because of your..." She fumbles for a while and I raise my eyebrows.
"Cancer?" I say, not very kindly. Why can't people just say what it is? Do they think they are going to get the disease if they say the word? It's a random, unpredictable mutation of cells, not Lord Voldemort.
She flushes and nods as if to apologise and I take the keys from her and offer her a smile. I'm not mad at her, not really. I'm just angry at the world for its unfair dish of fate.
"You could have been nicer, sweetheart." Dad reprimands me when we leave the reception. "It's not her fault you're ill."
"You don't need to be so sour." Mum says. "I know how you feel, honey, but your predicament hasn't changed just because you're going to college. You're not any worse off. Besides, I thought you wanted to come here."
"I did." I sigh. "I do." I am struggling to walk the long distance of the car park. "I'm not even upset. I just see all of these people, all of these college kids, and I know what they're doing; they're smoking or drinking or taking drugs and I know they're wasting their perfectly good lives away, and I'm stuck with this carcass of a life, even though I've never done any of those things." I suck in a large gulp of air. The mini-monologue combined with the walking has me breathless.
My room, it turns out, is actually very nice. It's large – Cancer Perks, I guess – with an ensuite bathroom and a double bed. There's a desk and a bookshelf and the turquoise carpet is clearly expensive; it's about three inches thick.
Dad hauls my bags onto the bed and I go to unzip them. They stand back as I arrange my possessions around my room, clearly knowing I need my independence. At one point, however, I can't stand on my stool to put my hockey trophy on my high shelf because my oxygen tank wire doesn't allow for the height. Before I can grumble, Mum – who is incredibly tall – places it up on the shelf.
I am done in the hour. I sit on my bed and survey my room. A certain sense of satisfaction creeps over me. This is my room. I moved in. I'm not in my parent's house anymore. It's probably one of the first normal things I have done.
Mum and Dad leave me alone for half an hour, whilst they go and grab some lunch. They did invite me along, but I'm not very hungry.
There's a knock at my door.
"Come in." I call, expecting Mum and Dad; they must have got back early.
It's not my parents, but a tall, lithe girl with long black hair and pale skin. She stands with her hand on her hip. I'm instantly on my guard – she looks like the Vapid Girls.
"You're a transfer? We don't get them much." She says bluntly. Then she seems to notice my cannula and oxygen tank. "Oh, you're ill? That sucks."
It's one of the first times anyone has ever talked directly about it. Mostly, people just brush over the issue, or pretend it doesn't exist. I can't help but crack a small smile.
"Yeah, it does." I say quietly.
"So what's the issue?"
"Lung cancer." I say vaguely. She doesn't want to know the science; I barely know it. "Since I was twelve."
"That sucks." She says again. Then she perks up, cancer forgotten. "So you're a transfer, right?"
I shake my head. "I've been working from home all year. Then, just before Christmas, I grew really bored and depressed so I decided to come study here."
"Being at home a lot sucks." She says. "I'm Kaitlyn, by the way."
"Hazel."
She seems to take our introductions as an invitation into my room. "Whoa, you got a nice place. You must be wealthy."
I shake my head. "Cancer Perks."
She shoots me a quizzical look.
I elaborate. "It's what Cancer patients call these little extra thingies that we get. You know, like, we skip the queues on rollercoasters, get signed copies of famous work, get backstage passes to concerts. Because people feel sorry for us."
"Well, you're gonna die anyway, so they probably want you to die happy."
I blink, shocked by her words, but not at all upset. She's right, of course. I'm going to die eventually. I never thought of the Perks like that; that they could be little uplifts to make our sad lives worth living.
"That's exactly what they are." I say, without missing a beat. I'm quickly catching on to Kaitlyn now. She seems the type of person to say what's on her mind before thinking about her words.
"It's a shame you missed fresher's week." She sighs sadly. "That would have made your life worth living – Is that Kate Winslet?"
I follow her gaze to a photograph of me and a woman with short, blonde hair. "Yeah." I say. "I got to go to the Divergent premiere – you know, she plays Jeanine. She took a picture with me."
"But you're on the red carpet."
"Yeah, I guess I am." We fall silent for a while. I feel like I have to explain. "She felt sorry for me...because I couldn't push past the rest of the crowd. So she made a point of dragging me out so I could get my picture done. She also signed my Divergent t-shirt." I wave towards the wardrobe area. "She was really nice, actually."
"You get a lot of stuff." She says, having clearly not heard me. She's still scanning my shelves, and despite the stuff being on display, I can't help but feel she's invading my privacy.
"I'd give it all up if I could give cancer up." I tell her quietly.
"Well, that's not happening."
I narrow my eyes. "No, I guess not." I can't make my mind up about how I feel about this girl. On the one hand, she does display Vapid Girl symptoms. On the other hand, she hasn't ignored me, clearly doesn't feel sorry for me, and knows I exist. She accepts my cancer and hasn't let it shape her opinion of me.
"So, what are you studying?" She asks.
"English Literature." I say. I wave An Imperial Affliction about. "Mostly because this author is studied on the course."
She squints as she tries to read the cover from across the room. "An Imperial Affliction...Peter Van Houten."
"Yup."
"Never heard of him." She says bluntly.
I roll my eyes. "You can't be taking English Lit."
"Nope! I'm studying Fine Art."
Ah. An artist. That explained a lot.
"Hazel, honey?" Mum appears in the doorway, Dad hovering at her shoulder. They both glance at Kaitlyn, smile slightly, and stare pointedly at me. They both seem to say told you so.
Kaitlyn's eyes grow wide at the sight of my parents and she stutters around her words. "I- I should go. Laters, neighbour."
"Bye." I say and watch, mournfully, as she scurries past my parents and out the door.
"What did you have to do that for?" I whine when the door closes. "I was so close, so close, to making my first ever friend. And then you go and scare her off!"
"We're sorry, sweetheart." Dad says, handing me a cup of lemon tea. "We didn't know."
"Yeah, well, I'm probably going to have to have the whole 'one day, in the not-so-distant future, I am going to die' conversation with her anyway. That's enough to scare anyone off."
"Everyone is going to die someday." Mum says, pointedly. I shoot her a sour look.
"We bought you something." Dad says, clearing his throat. "To celebrate your first day at college."
I stare at the carrier bag. Something close to excitement curls in my stomach; I haven't felt it in so long. A smile tugs at my lips and I make grabby hands at the bag.
"Dad, please let me have it!" I groan. "The curiosity is killing me. Well, not literally."
They both sigh to show their appreciation for my joke and hand me the bag. I close my eyes and stick my hand in.
Books. Several of them. After a while, I realise they're not just any books.
"You bought my reading list." I say, happily. "For my degree."
"We wanted you to have good resources." Mum says. "You can't use your personal copy of An Imperial Affliction for studying!"
She's right, of course. I'd hate to write notes in the margins of my personal copy. I pull out the brand new copy. It's a different cover – not the original – but I don't really mind. I'm just so grateful.
"Thank you." I say. "But how did you know my reading list?"
"Found it pinned to the notice board this morning." Dad says. He shrugs humbly. "I couldn't resist."
Outside my room, there is a squeal of excitement, followed by running.
Mum gets up. "What's going on?"
When she opens the door, people are running through the corridor, shouting and squealing. I hear two words: 'boys' and 'fight'.
I groan. It's the first day of the spring term and already there are people fighting. "Ugh. I don't want to know." I say, but then I wonder if that's true. I do want a normal life here. I want to live the life of a normal teenager. And normal teenagers would push their way through the crowd to see what the fight was about. "Actually, I do." I say, standing up. "Wait here."
"Hazel-" Mum says warningly.
"Mum, Dad, you wanted me to live a normal life. Well...now I'm living it. Wait here. Please." I kick back my oxygen tank and wheel it behind me. I follow the crowd to the car park.
"Hazel!" Someone calls. I whirl and see Kaitlyn coming towards me, a beam on her face. "A fresh fight!"
"Who is it?" I ask, though I really don't know why. It's not like I know anyone.
"Isaac Brown and Nick Trudge." She grins and links her arm through mine, matching her pace to my own slower one. I feel a warm glow in my stomach at her arm around mine. It makes me feel wanted. Normal.
Eventually, we reach the fight and it is in full throe. Kaitlyn points Isaac out to me – the one with the blonde hair. And he is mad.
"Not only did you steal my girlfriend, but you slept with her and then threw her to trash, you dick!" Isaac shouts, throwing a punch at Nick. The other guy gets it square in the eye and he staggers backwards. "No one treats Monica like that and gets away with it!"
"What, you mean you didn't?" Nick laughs. "Have you noticed she has this little habit of gasping when you pull out?"
Isaac reels a string of profanities that even I raise my eyebrows at. He lunges himself at Nick and there's this chant of 'fight, fight, fight!' echoing around the crowd. I don't see much. It's like a little scuffle, but a tall guy blocks my view. I sidestep him and walk forward. People seem to pay me little attention. They pay me enough sight to move out of the way of my oxygen tank and then they ignore me. It's not long before I am at the front of the crowd, with the best view.
"Oi!" Someone shouts, and his voice is distinctly male. I hear him swear softly and then he jogs over to Isaac and Nick, ducking swiftly to avoid a hit from Nick. "Cut it out, you two!" He shouts, yanking at Isaac's arms whilst simultaneously pushing Nick away. The new guy is hot, beautiful even, but he knows it, smirking cockily at Isaac whilst he pulls him away.
"Come on, bro." He says quietly but loud enough that I can still hear. "Leave it alone. He's not worth your time."
"He hurt Monica."
"Only her pride. It was consented sex, Isaac. You can't deny that."
Isaac seems to sag against him, all the fight leaving him. "He's a dick."
The boy shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe, but-"
"Augustus, heads up!" One in the crowd shouts and the boy – Augustus – whips his head around and brings his arm up to deflect a punch from Nick. He staggers from the impact into Isaac, who promptly falls – not expecting the scuffle – into me. I hit the ground, hard, my body twisting, and somehow, I can't breathe.
My cannula has fallen out.
Don't panic. Don't panic.
I concentrate on pulling air into my lungs and exhaling, but it hurts so bad and I know – by the darkening of my vision – that I am not getting enough oxygen in my lungs.
My hand fumbles for the cannula, but I can't see through the blur of my tears. My heart and head pound in sync and my chest tightens further.
"Hey, there." I hear. "I'm sorry about that – are you okay?"
I wonder how long it will take for this person to realise I cannot breathe. Will I die before he realises?
His face swims into my vision. Brown hair, blue eyes, the curve of a confident smirk, now turned down with concern.
He's beautiful, I think, before the darkness swallows me whole.
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