The night before his first day of high school, Justin Monaghetti discovered he was a loser.

This came as quite a shock to him. At 6.43 pm he had just been an ordinary twelve-year-old boy. He’d had an ordinary face, an ordinary name, and an ordinary chess piece that he carried in his pocket for good luck.

But at 7.07 pm, after the dinner plates had been cleared away, his parents delivered the news.

‘Justin,’ his dad said, ‘there’s no easy way to tell you this.’

‘We were going to wait a few more years,’ continued his mum, ‘but it just feels cruel to keep it a secret.’

Justin gulped. Was his mum having a baby? Or – worse – was his dad having a baby? He stared down at his empty placemat while his father nervously cleared his throat.

‘Son, you are a loser.’

Justin blinked.

‘Before you say anything, we want you to know that we love you,’ his mum jumped in. ‘And we will always love you, but it’s important you know the truth.’

His dad nodded. ‘And we want to reassure you that losers can still enjoy a very good quality of life. You just have to … err …’ He looked at Justin’s mum for help.

‘Manage it,’ she said.

‘That’s right,’ said his dad. ‘Take your grandfather, for example. He was a huge loser, but he still lived until the ripe old age of sixty-two. We even got a photo of him smiling once.’ He gestured to a black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall.

‘That’s actually a grimace,’ said Justin’s mum. ‘The flash hurt his eyes.’

‘The point is,’ Justin’s dad said, turning back to him, ‘you come from a long line of losers. It’s sort of … ah …’

‘Your destiny,’ his mum finished.

His dad nodded again. ‘That’s right. Destiny. And at primary school, these things don’t seem to matter so much. But at high school, well, it’s good to … um …’

‘Know your place,’ offered his mum, squeezing Justin’s shoulder. ‘Love, we know this isn’t the best news to receive. And we’ve seen how excited you are about starting Year Seven.’

‘Practically filled the Officeworks trolley with stationery, didn’t you, kiddo?’ His dad punched Justin playfully on the arm before descending into a coughing fit.

‘But that’s why we need to tell you this, darling,’ his mum continued. ‘So you don’t go getting your hopes up.’

‘Don’t get us wrong, high school can be a lot of fun – for some people,’ his dad spluttered, fishing a cough lozenge out of his shirt pocket. ‘But for losers, well, it’s more like … ah …’

‘Hell on earth,’ his mum concluded.

Justin’s dad was busy trying to unwrap his cough lozenge. The paper wasn’t coming loose. After a momentary struggle, he looked to Justin’s mum.

‘Darling, would you mind passing the scissors?’

‘Only if you don’t cut yourself like last time. We don’t need another hospital visit.’ She plucked a pair of scissors from the kitchen bench and slid them across the table. Justin’s dad held the lozenge up to the light, grimaced, and began snipping the paper off in tiny pieces.

‘Any questions, son?’

Justin sat in silence. Yes, he had questions. Heaps of questions! Like, what on earth just happened? How did his universe turn upside down in five short minutes? Couldn’t they have just told him his dad was having a baby instead?

Justin looked at his father, who was still struggling to free the lozenge, and decided he wasn’t equipped to answer such questions. Instead, he kept it simple.

‘Have I always been a loser?’

His mum glanced briefly at his dad, who kept on snipping as he spoke. ‘Since you were about two years old, I suppose. Isn’t that right, dear?’

Justin’s mum nodded sympathetically. ‘You certainly didn’t have a winning vibe as a toddler. But it was around Grade Three when it became clear you were destined for failure.’

‘When you started carrying that silly chess piece around with you,’ his dad added.

Justin bristled. ‘But that’s my lucky pawn.’

‘Well, it’ll need to work a lot harder from now on,’ said his mum gently. ‘Luck doesn’t really run in this family.’

As if on cue, Justin’s dad accidentally snipped his finger with the scissors and let out a high-pitched squeal as blood began spraying across the table.

His mum sighed. ‘I’ll fetch a bandaid. Justin, love – wrap a hanky around your dad’s finger, would you?’

Justin pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and reached across the table, bundling it awkwardly around his father’s hand. When he looked up, his dad’s eyes were fixed on him in desperation.

‘Justin, listen to me. If you want to survive high school, you need to protect yourself. Keep your head down. Blend in with the crowd. It’s only six years. And then another few, if you go to university. Actually, just keep your head down for the rest of your life. But pop it up occasionally to check for enemies.’ He winced in pain. ‘Don’t hold it so tight.’

Justin loosened his grip. ‘What sort of enemies?’

‘Bullies. Bosses. Real estate agents. You’ll find them wherever you go. And you can never escape them. Trust me, I’ve tried. You can change schools, change jobs, change towns. But you can’t change your destiny.’

At that moment, Justin’s mum returned with a bandaid and began wrapping it around his dad’s finger. Justin slumped back in his chair.

It’s not true, he thought. I’m nothing like my dad. And I’m nothing like my grandfather.

He stared at the light on the ceiling until it hurt his eyes, then turned away with a grimace.

‘Now, darling, you’re likely to experience a sense of loss, followed by denial, then anger,’ said his mum soothingly. ‘But the quicker you can work through those emotions, the sooner you’ll arrive at a state of …’

‘Acceptance!’ proclaimed his dad, brandishing his bandaged finger.

His parents grinned at Justin, as if the last ten minutes had never even happened. Justin stared back at them, wishing that was the case.

‘That reminds me,’ said his mum, reaching under the table. ‘We got you a gift for your first day of high school.’ She handed Justin a parcel wrapped in cellophane.

‘Wedgie-proof underpants, darling. Just for you.’

‘German-made,’ said his dad proudly. ‘Reinforced around the buttocks. I wore these well into my thirties. Hopefully you won’t need them, but you never know. Wedgies are making a bit of a comeback from what I hear.’

‘Although it’ll probably start with spitballs,’ said his mum. ‘That’s what they did to you, isn’t it dear?’

‘That’s right,’ replied his dad. ‘Spitballs in Year Seven, shin-kicking in Year Eight, wedgies in Year Nine, and then …’ His face became hollow.

Justin’s mum put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. ‘Shhh. No need to talk about Year Ten. We don’t want to frighten the poor boy.’

‘You’re right,’ his dad agreed. ‘Anyway, best you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow!’ With that, he scraped the last bit of paper off his cough lozenge, popped it into his mouth, and promptly began to choke.

Justin trudged upstairs to his bedroom, counting the steps as he went. Then he threw his new underpants on the floor, flopped onto his bed, and plucked his lucky pawn from his pocket.

Was it true? Was he a loser? He thought back over primary school. Sure, he’d once stepped in wet cement and spent four hours calling for help before he was finally rescued by the receptionist. And sure, he’d once split his trousers open during PE and had to hold them together with bulldog clips for the rest of the day. And sure, he spent most lunchtimes in the library playing chess – but how was that a bad thing? Wasn’t everyone in the world special, in their own unique way?

His lucky pawn stared back at him. It wasn’t equipped to answer such questions.

And so, at 7.18 pm the night before his first day of high school, Justin Monaghetti made a promise to himself.

‘Tomorrow, I’ll forge my own destiny,’ he whispered.

‘I’ll make new friends and learn new things. And there won’t be a spitball in sight.’