The Fault in Our Stars Read Free Page A

waiting for me. I gotta look at her a lot while I can.”
    “Counterinsurgence tomorrow?” Augustus asked.
    “Definitely.” Isaac turned and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
    Augustus Waters turned to me. “Literally,” he said.
    “Literally?” I asked.
    “We are literally in the heart of Jesus,” he said. “I thought we were in a church basement, but we are literally in the heart of Jesus.”
    “Someone should tell Jesus,” I said. “I mean, it’s gotta be dangerous, storing children with cancer in your heart.”
    “I would tell Him myself,” Augustus said, “but unfortunately I am literally stuck inside of His heart, so He won’t be able to hear me.” I laughed. He shook his head, just looking at me.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Nothing,” he said.
    “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    Augustus half smiled. “Because you’re beautiful. I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence.” A brief awkward silence ensued. Augustus plowed through: “I mean, particularly given that, as you so deliciously pointed out, all of this will end in oblivion and everything.”
    I kind of scoffed or sighed or exhaled in a way that was vaguely coughy and then said, “I’m not beau—”
    “You’re like a millennial Natalie Portman. Like
V for Vendetta
Natalie Portman.”
    “Never seen it,” I said.
    “Really?” he asked. “Pixie-haired gorgeous girl dislikes authority and can’t help but fall for a boy she knows is trouble. It’s your autobiography, so far as I can tell.”
    His every syllable flirted. Honestly, he kind of turned me on. I didn’t even know that guys
could
turn me on—not, like, in real life.
    A younger girl walked past us. “How’s it going, Alisa?” he asked. She smiled and mumbled, “Hi, Augustus.” “Memorial people,” he explained. Memorial was the big research hospital. “Where do you go?”
    “Children’s,” I said, my voice smaller than I expected it to be. He nodded. The conversation seemed over. “Well,” I said, nodding vaguely toward the steps that led us out of the Literal Heart of Jesus. I tilted my cart onto its wheels and started walking. He limped beside me. “So, see you next time, maybe?” I asked.
    “You should see it,” he said. “
V for Vendetta
, I mean.”
    “Okay,” I said. “I’ll look it up.”
    “No. With me. At my house,” he said. “Now.”
    I stopped walking. “I hardly know you, Augustus Waters. You could be an ax murderer.”
    He nodded. “True enough, Hazel Grace.” He walked past me, his shoulders filling out his green knit polo shirt, his back straight, his steps lilting just slightly to the right as he walked steady and confident on what I had determined was a prosthetic leg. Osteosarcoma sometimes takes a limb to check you out. Then, if it likes you, it takes the rest.
    I followed him upstairs, losing ground as I made my way up slowly, stairs not being a field of expertise for my lungs.
    And then we were out of Jesus’s heart and in the parking lot, the spring air just on the cold side of perfect, the late-afternoon light heavenly in its hurtfulness.
    Mom wasn’t there yet, which was unusual, because Mom was almost always waiting for me. I glanced around and saw that a tall, curvy brunette girl had Isaac pinned against the stone wall of the church, kissing him rather aggressively. They were close enough to me that I could hear the weird noises of their mouths together, and I could hear him saying, “Always,” and her saying, “Always,” in return.
    Suddenly standing next to me, Augustus half whispered, “They’re big believers in PDA.”
    “What’s with the ‘always’?” The slurping sounds intensified.
    “Always is their thing. They’ll
always
love each other and whatever. I would conservatively estimate they have texted each other the word
always
four million times in the last year.”
    A couple more cars drove up, taking