Sometimes being a twin totally rocks, and sometimes it’s the pits.

I hate all the jokes. People say, “You look so much alike. How can I tell you apart?”

That’s supposed to be funny, see. Because I’m a girl and my twin is a boy. Ha-ha.

Our parents didn’t help us out. I mean, naming us Jillian and Jackson. That’s too cute for words, right? I’ve been thinking when I get older, I may change my name to Adrianna.

Or do you think that’s too snobby sounding?

Well, I’m stuck with Jillian for now. But I don’t let anyone call me Jilly or Jill. And I never wear the same color clothes as Jackson.

I guess I’m more sensitive about the twin thing than my brother. He’s the relaxed one in the Gerard family. Everything is cool with him.

Mom says I think too much. It sounds like a compliment. But she doesn’t mean it in a good way. She says if I were a superhero, I’d be Worry Woman.

Jackson and I are into superheroes. We’re saving up our allowances to go to the big comic-book convention in San Diego next summer.

But that’s a whole other story.

Jackson and I are twelve. We both are tall and thin. We have wavy brown hair and dark, serious eyes. I’m on the swim team at school, and I like to play tennis, and I take horseback riding lessons on Saturdays.

Jackson is into sports, too. Mainly, Madden Football on his PlayStation 3.

Dad says Jackson should get up off the couch and get more exercise. Jackson told him, “I’ll get a lot more exercise if you buy me a Wii.”

This argument goes on and on.

Anyway, one good thing about being a twin is you always have someone to go to the movies with. One rainy night after dinner, Dad dropped us off at the tenplex at the mall. We ran to the ticket window to make sure Butt-Kicker II wasn’t sold out.

Butt-Kicker is our favorite superhero. He started out as a member of the Mighty Mutant Club. But he was kicked out for being too tough!

How cool is that?

Jackson and I bought big buckets of buttered popcorn. Then we made our way down the aisle of the crowded theater. We like to sit very close to the screen. We don’t like people to come between us and the movie.

We sat down on the end of the third row. I stared up at the screen. Basketball players were leaping about a mile off the floor. It was a commercial for sneakers that could make you “almost” fly.

“Great seats,” Jackson said, digging into his popcorn. “I don’t mind a stiff neck — do you?”

“Of course not,” I said. I accidentally bumped his arm with my elbow. A little popcorn spilled onto the floor.

“Hey — watch it!” Jackson snapped. He twisted away from me. “This is my new sweater. You’ll get butter on it.”

“Jackson, it’s a black sweater,” I said. “The stains won’t show.”

Jackson didn’t reply. He was staring past me to the aisle. And he had a horrified look on his face.

“Oh, noooo,” he moaned. “I don’t believe it. Oh, noooo.”

And that’s when all our trouble began … on the day Jackson and I got our strange, new powers.