Being eighteen is everything like being seventeen. I still live with my dad. He still lets me live rent-free with the mutual understanding that one day I'll take care of him when he's old and can't do so much by himself.

I play with my dog every day and take him for walks. He loves me the same.

Being with my dad and my dog is great. I could live with them forever.

I don't go to high school anymore, which is nice. Except for the part where I don't see any of my friends anymore. I miss them. I miss my friends. I hated them in high school, but now they're the only people I wish I saw. I'm trying to make friends in college, but no one ever taught me how. There wasn't a class on socializing, and I'm just now realizing I probably should've made it a hobby when I was still in high school. It's not nice being alone every time I go out.

I can try to make friends with adults now, and they don't think it's too weird. That's nice. Sometimes older people think I'm cute, which is nice I guess. It's what I imagine a grandma would do--she'd pinch my cheek and call me handsome or beautiful or a little spitfire. But, sometimes it's not like grandma at all. Sometimes the adults tell me things in quiet voices and say I can't ever repeat those words. Sometimes they put their hands on me. That's not so nice.

If I was still seventeen...If it was only a month ago...I wouldn't be so afraid to speak. But now I'm eighteen, and I have to grow up like all the other adults. I can't tell my dad. It's not worth calling my friends who are at universities in other colleges. I can tell my dog...He can keep a secret. I just wonder if I can keep a secret too, because I'm getting tired of everything being nice and not-so nice.