I know, Sweetheart. Your talent for reading the future has yet to flower as fully as mine. You have every reason to be skeptical.
Nevertheless, here is What Will Be:
In 30 minutes, your cheeks will flame pink as you rocket up the half-pipe at the skate park. A grin will split your face and your hair will fan like wings when you catch the air. Kids will find you, kids you’ve never met before. They will absorb you as theirs. Your gang will explode into a game of tag so epic that when the metal joint of a ramp scrapes an inch of skin off your knee, you won’t even stop for a band-aid.
Ignore or accept this Truth. It’s your choice. Hate me. Fight me. Dawdle, negotiate, whine, and snarl. These responses are understandable when your clairvoyance reaches only as far as losing the comparatively wan pleasure of Bloon’s Tower Defense Five. So, take these few moments to rage against the injustice, though I urge you to save some of your fight for a less certain fate.
Put the tablet away, get your socks and shoes on, and get in the car. You might as well get on with it.
Your destiny is written.
Play is inevitable. Exhilaration, your cross to bear.