Young Justin Trudeau skipped up to the sorting hat and placed it on top of his curly jet-black hair.
He heard a mysterious voice go through his head, it said, “Difficult, very difficult. Great hair, not a bad body either. I bet you could plank with one hand. But where to put you?”
Not Dalhousie, he thought, Not Dalhousie.
Just then, he heard a mysterious voice in his head yawp, “Not Dalhousie, eh? You would do well in Dalhousie.”
Young Justin Trudeau balled up his hands into tiny fists. He looked over to the Dalhousie table where he saw Young Peter Mackay pop his collar, vape his vape, and scoff incredulously.
I’m sure, Justin thought intently, Anything but Dalhousie.
“Very well, then,” screamed the Sorting Hat before turning to the crowd and, again, screaming, “McGill!”
Young Justin Trudeau punch a wall and screamed, “Why aren’t I on the team?!”
Highschool Field Lacrosse Captain Jean Chretien was taken aback and began, “I’m sorry Justin. There’s limited spots available on the McGill Field Lacrosse team.”
“But my dad was the best Field LaCrosse Player in history!”
“And I’m sure you’ll be great someday, J. Just not today.”
“What is it, Jean?! Are you jealous of my Dad? Are you taking it out on me? Is this why you’ve replaced his economically progressive game tactics with your own neoliberal strategies?!”
Young Jean Chretien rolled his eyes. He motioned to one of his goons, Bob, to remove Justin from the field.
Justin continued yelling, “It increases team inequality! No one gets the chance to score goals except you and Young Paul Martin! It’s not fair. This isn’t okay?”
“Why isn’t it okay, Justin?” asked Jean sarcastically, humouring Justin for a second.
“Because it’s 2005!”
Just then, Jean Chretien’s Goon, Young Bob Rae put a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder and began to growl, “It’s time to go. You’re not on the team.”
“I should be on the team!”
“I’m sorry Justin,” sighed Young Jean Chretien, “You’re just not ready.”
Young Justin Trudeau was trying to fit all of his pens in his pocket protector when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the jet-blonde streaks of the hair of Young Peter Mackay.
“Hey Poo-deau,” scoffed Peter, “You’ve got something on your shirt.”
“I don’t have something on my shirt, Peter,” muttered Justin as he looked down at the ground.
Peter stuck his finger close to Justin’s chest, as if to point at a stain.
Peter popped his collar, brushed back his hair, and lasciviously said, “I’m not lying to Poodeau. You’ve got something on your shirt.”
“I’m not looking down,” yelled Justin, “Cause when I look down you’re gonna move up your finger and hit me on the nose again. I’m not falling for it again, Peter.”
Young Peter Mackay laughed, “I wouldn’t lie to you Poodeau, just like I didn’t lie to David Orchard.”
Peter motioned to his two Dalhousie goons, Young Jim Prentice and Prime Minister Brian Mulrooney. He asked, “Would I lie? Peetie don’t tell no lies.”
Prime Minister Brian Mulrooney growled back, “Peetie don’t tell no lies.”
“See Poodeau?” scoffed Peter, turning back to Young Justin Trudeau, “You really do have a stain on your shirt.”
Justin shrugged and looked down. Peter moved up his finger to hit Justin on the nose. All the Dalhousie boys ran away howling in laughter.
This happened every day.
“I hate everyone!” screamed Young Justin Trudeau as he ran out into the lake.
He accidentally bumped into a young woman. She was out there skipping rocks.
“Watch it, mister,” the young woman whispered.
“I’m sorry! I’ve just had a bad day!” yelled Justin apologetically.
“Well if I was an NDP MP I’d be on TV right now fake-crying about how you tried to kill me.”
“Because I accidentally bumped you?”
“The world’s changing,” laughed the young woman, “Now what has you so bothered?”
“I have the worst life. I got rejected from the Field Lacrosse team because they think I’m just a kid. Then I got bullied by those boys from Dalhousie. Then I did my hilarious prank where I pretend to fall down the stairs. No one got it, they just think I fell down the stairs.”
“That’s rough. Did you even want to play Lacrosse?”
“No, I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. I think I’d be great at ironically pretending to striptease. I’m sure that’d never come back to haunt me, especially not in a general election.”
The woman laughed, “You know what I do when I get upset?”
“I make terrible salsa. Or I sing a bad song badly.”
“Don’t people make fun of you?”
“It’s not for them. It’s for me. You’ve gotta do something for you, sometimes.”
Just then, Young Stockwell Day sped by in his jet ski, having the time of his life.
“See?” said the woman, pointing off in the distance to Stockwell, “Like that. He’s doing that for him. If people don’t like it people don’t like it. You can’t get all worked up trying to get everyone to like you.”
“I guess,” muttered Justin, looking down at his feet.
“So if you like dancing and pretending to fall down the stairs, dance your way down the stairs.”
Young Justin Trudeau flashed the woman a furtive smile before nervously asking, “Would you uh.., would you like to watch me pretend to fall down the stairs sometime?”
The young woman smiled back and said, “I think I’d like that a whole lot.”
Justin beamed, held out his hand, and stammered, “I’m uh.. my name is Justin.”
The young woman took his hand and whispered back, “Sophie. Sophie Gregoire.”
Young Justin Trudeau was reading a book when Young Bob Rae sprinted up and snatched it from his hands.
“What is it?!” yawped Justin.
“We need you! It’s a total disaster! Big meltdown! We need you Trudeau.”
“But I thought you said I wasn’t ready?”
“No, Jean said that. It doesn’t matter. Jean is gone.”
“What do you mean?! What happened to Young Jean Chretien?!”
“They found out he was throwing games in exchange for illicit advertising copy pertaining to Canadian Nationalism in Quebec!”
“Jinkies!” Justin screamed, “But what about Young Paul Martin? Young Stephane Dion?”
“All gone! They were too close to Jean. They couldn’t escape the fallout. We even brought in a pinch-hitter from America to help us win the big game but he got disqualified when everyone realized he was a big phony.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“We need you to Captain our team! Your father is one of the greatest Field Lacrosse players in history. We can’t beat Dalhousie without you.”
“No chance Bob,” scoffed Justin, “I don’t want to play anymore. I just want to dance and pretend to fall down the stairs. Maybe I’ll even do something crazy, like teach Highschool Drama.”
“Please, Justin! We’ll be disqualified without you.”
Just then, young Sophie Gregoire walked in, put her hand on Justin’s shoulder, and whispered, “I think you should play. It’s your duty.”
“But I just wanna dance!” whined Justin.
“You know why your dad was so great, Justin?” asked Sophie.
“Because he just wanted to dance, too.”
A single tear rolled down Justin’s cheek. He knew what he had to do.
Justin turned to Young Bob Rae and growled, “Give me that racket!”
He grabbed the racket and sprinted out onto the field. He led McGill to a shocking 184-99 victory over Dalhousie, kickstarting one of the most illustrious Highschool Field Lacrosse careers in history. After the game, Justin Trudeau did his hilarious prank where he pretended to fall down the stairs but this time everybody got it and laughed.
The rest is history.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.