“Never!” cried the second sock. “I am the navigator! I point forward! Put me on the foot that wiggles so I can wiggle the stars!”
Leo looked at his feet. His left foot and right foot were also twins. They were best friends. They walked together, jumped together, and kicked the same soccer ball.
He slid the second sock onto his right foot. It fit perfectly. The two rockets were now side by side, aiming forward, a fleet of two.
“That’s wrong,” the sock grumbled. socks for 4
“Mom!” Leo yelled, not because he needed help, but because the socks were being unreasonable.
“Okay,” Leo whispered back. He turned the sock around and shoved his right toes into the heel. It was a lumpy, angry fit. The toe seam bunched under his arch. The rocket ships were now pointing sideways, exploding toward his ankle.
Leo pulled it off and threw it on the floor. He picked up the other rocket sock. “You go on the left.” “Never
On Tuesday morning, the sun was a cheerful yellow square on the carpet. Leo sat on the bottom step of the staircase, his feet dangling like two ripe pears. In his hands, he held a pair of rocket ship socks. The rockets were red and pointed toward the toes, ready to blast off.
The left sock wiggled. It did not want to be left. It wanted to be right.
The socks went very still.
“Did they behave?” she asked.
Leo was four years old, which meant he was old enough to put on his own socks. At least, that’s what his mom said every morning. The problem wasn’t that Leo couldn’t do it. The problem was that Leo’s socks had opinions.
