“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!”
He zoomed past the kitchen, past the bathroom, and crash-landed on the living room rug. His mom peeked around the corner.
Leo looked at his feet. The rocket socks were smiling. He could tell, even though socks don’t have mouths. socks for 4
“They just needed to know who was the captain,” Leo said.
Leo slid the first sock onto his left foot. The heel cup found its home. The toes spread out like five little astronauts. The rocket ships pointed straight toward his toenails, ready for takeoff. “Never
Leo frowned. His left foot was his wiggling foot. His right foot was his stomping foot. The rocket sock wanted the stomping foot.
The left sock wiggled. It did not want to be left. It wanted to be right. Put me on the foot that wiggles so I can wiggle the stars
“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.
“Good?” Leo asked.
Leo pulled it off and threw it on the floor. He picked up the other rocket sock. “You go on the left.”
“Ah,” she said. “I see the problem. These are twin socks. They miss each other. They want to be next to each other, pointing the same way, so they can fly together.”