Twin Rules: Everything I Know About Being Half of a Matched Set

People always ask what it’s like being a twin.

I don’t know how to answer, because I’ve never not been one. That’s like asking a fish what it’s like being wet.

But here’s what I can tell you. Rylee and I are identical. Same face. Same perfect ringlet curls that let you do your hair in five minutes. And we are completely, totally, cosmically different people.

Rylee has a folder. The folder has tabs. She has a backup of her backup.

I have a great personality.

I like to say I’m street smart and Rylee is book smart. She says I’m “street loud.” We’re both right.

So, after thirteen years of research, here are the official Twin Rules.

Twin Rule 1: The front seat is never free.

You do not just GET the front seat. You earn it, or you sprint for it, or you lose it because you were late coming downstairs. (Once. That happened once. Fine, more than once.) Whoever sits in back has the right to tell everyone Mom is their chauffeur. That’s in the bylaws.

Twin Rule 2: Rylee always knows where to be.

This one is hard to explain, and honestly I’m not allowed to explain all of it. But Rylee figured out her way around Castle Hill about a minute after we moved here. She never gets lost. She looks up at the exact right second, every time, like somebody tapped her on the shoulder.

Me? I have a terrible sense of direction. I once tried to lead us to homeroom and we ended up somewhere near a supply closet. So now she navigates and I narrate. It’s a system.

Twin Rule 3: Finish each other’s sentences only when it’s funny.

When it’s not funny, it’s annoying. Rylee does not know the difference. I am working with her on this.

Twin Rule 4: You fight like weather.

Here’s the thing about Rylee and me. We fight like weather. It blows in, it blows through, somebody makes a dumb joke, and it’s over.

Usually.

I’ll be honest with you, because I promised myself this blog would be honest. This fall, we had a fight that didn’t blow through. It was my fault. Mostly. I made a big decision without asking her, and she found out at lunch, and it was like a storm that parked over our house and refused to leave.

It was the quietest week of my life. I hated it.

Twin Rule 5: Somebody says sorry first. Be the somebody.

What fixed it wasn’t a clever speech. I had about nine clever speeches rehearsed. What fixed it was walking down the hall, all nine feet of it, and saying, “You were right.”

And then she said she was sorry too, which I did not see coming. It turns out even the together one gets scared sometimes. She just files it where nobody can see.

We’re kind of a mess. Rylee says we’re a matched set. It’s the twin thing.

Twin Rule 6: Opposites are the whole point.

I used to think it would be easier if Rylee were more like me. Now I think that’s the worst idea I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some bad ones. I jump. She checks the math. I see the big picture. She finds the way there. Neither of us works as well alone.

If you have a sister, or a brother, or a best friend who is your total opposite: lucky you. Go tell them. They probably won’t believe you.

Rylee wants me to add that she beat me at Scrabble on Sunday with the word “quixotic” on a triple-letter score. I would like to add that I played “zit,” and I stand by it.

Love you from the mountain top, Rye. (She’ll read this. She reads everything.)

Stella