His mom appeared in the hallway, a piece of toast in her mouth and a coffee mug in her hand. “What’s the trouble, Captain?”
The left sock wiggled. It did not want to be left. It wanted to be right.
“They just needed to know who was the captain,” Leo said.
The socks went very still.
“Socks,” Leo said, picking them up gently. “You are both rocket ships. Left foot and right foot are launch pads. If you go on the wrong pads, you’ll crash into each other. But if you go on the right pads—left sock on left foot, right sock on right foot—you can fly to the moon together.”
“Mom!” Leo yelled, not because he needed help, but because the socks were being unreasonable.
His mom sat down next to him. She didn’t say, “Socks don’t talk, Leo.” She didn’t say, “Just put them on.” Instead, she picked up the two rocket socks and held them side by side. socks for 4
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.
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.
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. His mom appeared in the hallway, a piece
Leo stood up. He wiggled his left toes. He stomped his right heel. Then he ran down the hallway, his sock-feet sliding on the wood floor, and he shouted, “BLAST OFF!”
“No,” said the sock in a crinkly, whispery voice that only Leo could hear. “I am for the foot that kicks. I am a powerful rocket. I need the strong foot.”
He zoomed past the kitchen, past the bathroom, and crash-landed on the living room rug. His mom peeked around the corner. It wanted to be right
“They want the wrong feet,” Leo said.