Eli Turner can count anything-eggs, ceiling tiles, the exact decibel level of a cafeteria at peak chaos. What he can't count is how many times the world has asked him to be less. In working-class Riverbend, Texas, nine-year-old Eli is a neurodivergent boy in a bow tie, walking into middle school armed with a tape measure, an Observations notebook, and a brain that loves patterns more than people. At home, money is always short, the fridge hums like it's worried about the light bill, and his parents-Grace, a bone-tired waitress, and Ray, a mechanic who speaks in bolts and engines-hold the family together with late shifts, lunchbox notes, and quiet heroics that never make it into report cards. Across eleven chapters-a single school term-Eli navigates: - A cafeteria where a rearranged lunch tray makes him a target - A fire drill that ends with him counting tiles on a bathroom floor - A field trip his father pays for by secretly selling his best tools - A letter to a fellow astronomy nerd that's mistaken for cheating - A perfect, disastrous presentation on Kepler's Laws that earns mockery and a 95 - A substitute teacher who turns his sensory overload into a disciplinary problem - A Thanksgiving where his grandmother calls his accommodations "coddling" and his father finally says, "Enough" Along the way, Eli finds unexpected allies: Ms. Alvarez, the English teacher who buys him a Sky & Telescope subscription from her own paycheck; Mr. Chen, who hands him a physics book instead of a pat on the head; Mr. J, the custodian who also counts things and offers a quiet closet when the world is too loud; Cooper, the twelve-year-old astronomy club leader who writes, "We're weird in the same ways"; and his own family-Maya, the image-conscious sister who will still bloody a reputation to protect him, and Sam, the seven-year-old inventor whose Equalizer 2.0 "measures bravery" with a click. As bills pile up under the recipe book and small mechanical failures foreshadow bigger breaks, Eli discovers that courage isn't just rockets and equations. It's asking for accommodations in a hostile classroom. It's admitting you broke your sister's phone while trying to fix it. It's watching your parents choose you over the approval of their own families. It's learning that being "built different" doesn't mean you're wrong-it means the world needs to adjust its tools. Tender, sharply observed, and quietly epic in the way ordinary lives really are, The Boy Who Counted the Sky is a lyrical, funny, and heart-aching story about neurodivergence, poverty, and the small daily acts that keep a family from rattling apart. Through Eli's precise, sideways gaze, readers see that some constellations are made of stars, and some are made of people who stay.