“Dad smiled. He put a big arm around me and pulled me to him, kissing the side of my head. “I don’t know what I believe, Hazel. I thought being an adult meant knowing what you believe, but that has not been my experience.”

“I don't know what I believe, Hazel. I thought being an adult meant knowing what you believe, but that has not been my experience.”

“I thought being an adult meant knowing what you believe, but that has not been my experience.”

“I pulled the oxygen tubes from my nostrils and raised the tube up over my head, handing it to Dad. I wanted it to be just me and just him.”

“Hazel Grace,” he said, my name new and better in his voice. “It has been a real pleasure to make your acquaintance.”“Ditto, Mr. Waters,” I said. I felt shy looking at him. I could not match the intensity of his waterblue eyes.“May I see you again?” he asked. There was an endearing nervousness in his voice.I smiled. “Sure.”“Tomorrow?” he asked.“Patience, grasshopper,” I counseled. “You don’t want to seem overeager.”“Right, that’s why I said tomorrow,” he said. “I want to see you again tonight. But I’m willing to wait all night and much of tomorrow.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious,” he said.“You don’t even know me,” I said. I grabbed the book from the center console. “How about I call you when I finish this?”“But you don’t even have my phone number,” he said.“I strongly suspect you wrote it in the book.”He broke out into that goofy smile. “And you say we don’t know each other.”

“I know. I know. Just--hold on." He pulled out a thick headband. It was brown, with a plush fox head on the front. He put it on his head.I laughed. "What the hell is that?""It's my fox hat.""Your fox hat?""Yeah, Pudge. My fox hat.""Why are you wearing your fox hat?" I asked."Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.”

“This is your war now.' I despised myself for the cheesy sentiment, but what else did I have?'Some war,' he said dismissively. 'What am I at war with? My cancer. And what is my cancer? My cancer is me. The tumors are made of me. They're made of me as surely as my brain and my heart are made of me. It is a civil war, Hazel Graze, with a predetermined winner.”