“They want the wrong feet,” Leo said.
“Left foot,” Leo commanded.
Socks have opinions. But feet have the final vote. socks for 4
The left sock wiggled. It did not want to be left. It wanted to be right.
He zoomed past the kitchen, past the bathroom, and crash-landed on the living room rug. His mom peeked around the corner. “They want the wrong feet,” Leo said
The socks went very still.
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!” But feet have the final vote
And from that day on, Leo was four and a half, then five, then five and three-quarters. He grew out of the rocket socks and into shark socks and soccer ball socks and plain white socks that had nothing to say at all. But he never forgot the rule: