Dear Diary,

Today is January 1, 2000. We've been lost in space for 2 years and almost 3 months.

At first I thought this whole thing was going to be exciting. I think I was too naïve to understand what it all really meant. I've grown up a lot over the last two years, and it has only made me more aware of what I'm really missing out on.

Mom and Daddy try to make it easier. I know they don't realize that I see through their façade. I watch every day as they keep up a brave face, making plan after plan as to how we're going to get off of this planet. They do a good job of pretending that we're okay; that we're a normal family. Next Christmas we'll be home, they keep telling us. Penny, you'll be home for your next birthday. I don't know how to tell them that I know the truth. I've seen their secret looks as soon as Will or I turn our backs. I've overheard conversations when they thought they were alone. I know they don't really think we're going to get home.

In some ways, it hurts me that they won't just come right out and say it. Will and I were young when we left, too young, really; at the time none of us cared about that, because it was supposed to be a routine mission and we would be among other people again just as soon as we established a colony near Alpha Centaury. But then Dr. Smith stowed aboard, and our ship was thrown off course by his extra weight. I don't really blame him, although I keep thinking that maybe I should. The truth is, I blame my parents for this mess.

They should have known better than to take their two young children into deep space.

And now I'm more grown up than I was, and I understand a lot more than they think that I do. Space will do that to you. And still, they won't come out and talk to me; they won't just be honest about the situation. It's kind of frustrating. I've tried broaching the subject with mother, multiple times – every time, she just brushes me off, telling me, "it's okay, dear; you're worrying too much." She really doesn't see that I'm not a child anymore.

Sometimes I look at Judy and I realize how jealous of her I honestly am, and it goes deep. She was old enough when we left Earth that our parents respected her as an adult, and then she fell in love with Don. Of course she did; they were around the same age, although he's a bit older, and really, what did my parents think would happen? It's not like there's anyone else to choose from.

That's part of the problem. There's nobody else to choose from. When we left, I never thought this would be a problem. I was still at that age where I thought boys were gross. Now, I'm older… still not old enough to get married, I know, but I see Don and Judy and I wonder if I'll ever have that. I bet a lot of my old friends and classmates from Earth are already dating… I wonder if any of them miss me, or if they've just written me off for dead.

To be fair, they'd have no reason to think that I was still alive. And that hurts almost more than the fact that my parents still think of me as a child. I had so many friends, so many family members… we left all of that behind, just to get lost in space. I know that's not entirely fair. We were never supposed to get lost. But we did, and now everybody thinks we're dead, and it's just us, Don, and Dr. Smith, and some days we're all so tense that we don't even speak to each other. We do our best, but… I don't know. It's just so depressing, to be cooped up in the Jupiter 2, with nobody else to talk to except the same people over and over; nothing to look at except the same rocks and sand.

I just want to go home. I'm so tired of being lost in space. I want to see my grandparents – if they're still alive – and catch up with friends and sleep in my own bed. I don't want to be here anymore. I hate this.