The front was the most difficult part; having to pretend that she was okay, when in fact, all of her bones ached and she felt like she was going to vomit at every hour of the day. Deep down, Anna wanted to scream to the world that she wasn't okay, but she turned to take a look at her mother from her place on the couch, putting up her own front to hide the pain she felt inside. The question was asked again; 'how are you?'. She replied with the same 'okay' that she always did, even if it wasn't quite true.

...

Augustus cared about Hazel's scrambled egg rant. Augustus really did. It was just that food wasn't really what he wanted to think about sitting in the airport, with his stomach churning desperately as his breakfast threatened to attempt a great escape. He frantically excused himself, not sure his insides would remain inside for much longer. He felt as if the acid inside his stomach was tearing away at its walls just seconds before he finally made it to a toilet cubicle.

Once he was half sure he wasn't going to spew again, he sat back, pressing his head against the wall of the cubicle and concentrated on his breathing. He felt like crying out, angry at himself for not being able to confide in Hazel. He didn't want to be sick again. He felt like a kid crying because they didn't get what they wanted for Christmas. It was out of his control. He composed himself, making sure his breath didn't stink of puke and headed back; the first wall of his front had been built. Wanting to make the lie he'd mumbled out to Hazel more solid, he collected a burger from one of the fast food shops, and broke a few pieces of into the bin, making it look like he'd ate some of it; the second wall. He told her the line had been long; and the third. He then falsely admitted his embarrassment of their fellow passengers looking at them; and there was the fourth. And there he was, standing in the middle of them all. Hazel Grace was none the wiser.

...

For Anna, some things were better kept secret. She didn't want to tell her mother about any possible progressions her illness had made. She didn't want her mother to be upset. It may have seemed desperate, and a bit of a lost cause, but more than anything, she didn't want the way those close to her treated her to change. She just wanted to be Anna. Not Anna with cancer. Not sick little Anna. Not the poor little girl who spent a lot of time in room 54 of the Memorial Hospital. She just wanted to be Anna.

...

"You used to call me Augustus."

Augustus wasn't sure why it had bothered him so much. I mean, other people called him 'Gus' all the time. Maybe it was just that she would always be Hazel Grace to him, and never just Hazel, and he just thought he'd always be Augustus and never Gus. Maybe 'okay' hadn't been their only 'always'. He knew he was not the boy she met months before; he was just that boy's shadow. He was weak and sick and tired, and the majority of his dignity had abandoned him and flew off to who knows where. He knew that he was a dead man walking, all pale and scrawny like a corpse. He just never thought Hazel would see him that way.

It's not just Hazel Grace's attitude that has changed. It's the way his sisters and their other halves suddenly act like they care, fussing over him like he's a five year old child. It's especially odd, seeing as before, the only time he'd see them would be Thanksgiving or Christmas, and even then, they didn't always show.

He was still Augustus, despite the fact that his body had failed him, just like she was still Hazel Grace, despite the fact that her lungs sucked at their job. There was no reason for anyone to treat him any differently now that he was sick, and was going to die. He was the same boy, maybe not in body but in mind.

...

Anna could barely remember how it had started. Her mother had told her that she'd been ill for a while, but she just thought it was some kind of flu that her daughter was finding it hard to shake. When she was finally given the diagnosis, everything seemed to fall into place. It happened all at once. They rushed her into treatment, often trying out recently available methods on her like she was their little guinea pig.

She'd grown used to it all- the medical jargon, and the condescending manner of her peers' way of speaking- but even still, she couldn't help but be terrified. She didn't want to wake up the next day, only to find that she actually could feel worse than she already did, having to deal with some knew pain or symptom or side effect from the medication.

...

It had started with a dull ache in his knee. It would be worse at night, feeling like someone had hacked the bottom of his leg off with an axe. He assumed he'd picked up his injury playing basketball, and organized a few extra sessions with the team's physio. When the pain ceased to go away, his parents arranged for him to see his doctor. The time between then and his diagnosis flew by; school was busy and he had very little time to stop and think. Until the day he found out, he'd hardly thought about it.

When they told him he'd have to lose his leg, it was like the lights went off in his head. He finally understood the seriousness of the situation after months of what you could probably class as denial. Through the treatment that followed, he let those four walls fall down a little. He gave in to telling those around him when he was nauseous or when he though something wasn't right.

If only the lesson had been learnt.