Holly Goldberg Sloan did something weirdly magical with Counting by 7s. She wrote a book about a kid who is essentially a "super-genius" but managed to make her feel like someone you actually know, rather than some untouchable Sherlock Holmes archetype. If you haven't read it yet, or if you're looking for a book that handles grief without being a complete "downer," this is basically the gold standard. It’s one of those rare stories that bridges the gap between middle-grade fiction and something much more profound.
Willow Chance is twelve. She’s obsessed with nature and diagnosing medical conditions. She also finds comfort in the number seven. Most people see her as an oddity, which is pretty common for kids who are "twice-exceptional" or just don't fit the standard social mold. But the heart of Counting by 7s isn't about her being smart. It’s about what happens when her entire world—her adoptive parents—is suddenly wiped out in a car accident.
It’s heavy. Really heavy.
But honestly, the book doesn't wallow. It moves.
The Reality of Grief in Counting by 7s
Most books for young readers treat death like a plot point. In Counting by 7s, grief is a character. Willow doesn't just "get over it." She shuts down. She stops counting. For a girl whose entire identity is built on patterns and data, the chaos of loss is paralyzing. Sloan writes this with a level of empathy that feels earned.
You see, Willow is an outsider. She's a person of color adopted by white parents, which adds layers to her identity that many books ignore. When they die, she isn't just an orphan; she's a girl who has lost her only anchors to a world that already found her confusing.
The story introduces us to the Nguyen family—Mai, Quang-ha, and their mother Pattie—who run a nail salon. They aren't wealthy. They aren't "perfect" caregivers. They live in a garage. This isn't a fairy tale where a rich relative swoops in. It's a messy, cramped, realistic look at how community forms in the most unlikely places.
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Why Willow Chance Isn't Your Typical "Genius" Character
We’ve all seen the "genius" trope. The kid who solves crimes or builds rockets in their basement. Willow is different. Her genius is internal. She views the world through a biological lens.
- She sees a garden and thinks about soil pH.
- She sees a person and wonders about their heart rate.
- She counts by sevens because the world is unpredictable, and multiples of seven are a constant.
It’s a grounding mechanism. When she stops counting after the accident, the reader feels that silence. It’s a brilliant narrative choice by Sloan. By stripping away Willow’s primary coping mechanism, the author forces the character—and us—to find a new way to exist.
There's also Dell Duke. Oh, Dell. He’s the school counselor who is, quite frankly, a bit of a disaster. He’s incompetent in his job, lazy, and mostly just trying to get through the day. Usually, in these stories, the adult is the wise mentor. Here? Willow is the one who ends up organizing Dell's life. It’s funny, sure, but it also highlights a truth: sometimes the people meant to save us are just as lost as we are.
The Power of the "Found Family"
The phrase "found family" gets thrown around a lot in literary circles. But Counting by 7s is the literal embodiment of it. You have a Vietnamese family, a bumbling counselor, a taxi driver named Jairo Hernandez, and a grieving genius girl.
They shouldn't work together.
On paper, this group is a demographic nightmare for a marketing team. But in the prose, they are everything. Jairo, specifically, is a standout character. He’s a guy just trying to make a living, and his interactions with Willow lead him to believe she’s some kind of shaman or lucky charm. It’s a bit of magical realism tucked into a contemporary setting.
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The transformation of the "Gardens of Glenwood"—the apartment complex where they end up—serves as a metaphor for Willow’s healing. She takes a dusty, dead courtyard and turns it into a sanctuary. It’s not just about plants. It’s about the fact that even in the most sterile, bureaucratic environments (like the foster care system), life can be cultivated if you're stubborn enough.
Critiques and the "Savant" Narrative
It’s worth mentioning that some readers find the "genius" aspect a bit much. There is a valid conversation about how neurodivergent characters are often portrayed as having "superpowers" to make them more palatable to a general audience. Willow is undeniably brilliant.
Does this make her less relatable?
For some, maybe. But the emotional core of the book—the feeling of being "othered"—is universal. Whether you’re a genius or just the kid who likes different music than everyone else, you’ve felt like Willow. The book doesn't argue that her intelligence saves her. Her community saves her. Her intelligence just helps her process the data of her own survival.
Looking Back: The Legacy of the Book
Released in 2013, the book has maintained a permanent spot on middle school reading lists. Why? Because it doesn't talk down to kids. It assumes they can handle complex themes like systemic poverty, the failures of the foster system, and the physical weight of depression.
Holly Goldberg Sloan, who also wrote I'll Be There, has a background in screenwriting. You can tell. The pacing is cinematic. The scenes are vivid. But the interiority—the stuff happening inside Willow’s head—is what makes it a "book" in the truest sense. You can't capture that internal monologue on film quite the same way.
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The ending doesn't tie everything up in a neat little bow, but it offers something better: stability. In a world that counts by sevens, stability is the ultimate goal.
Practical Ways to Engage with the Story
If you’re a parent, teacher, or just a fan of great fiction, there are a few ways to really "get" this book beyond just reading the pages.
Analyze the character groups. Dell Duke categorizes people into groups like "Lone Wolves" or "Oddballs." It’s worth asking why we do that. Why do we feel the need to label people before we know them? Dell’s growth comes from realizing his labels are useless.
Look at the setting. The nail salon, the taxi, the garage. These are "invisible" places in a lot of fiction. Sloan brings them to the forefront. Notice how the environment changes as Willow starts to heal. The garden isn't just a hobby; it’s a physical manifestation of her mental state.
Think about the number 7. Why 7? It’s a prime number. It’s "lonely" in a mathematical sense. It doesn't fit into the easy patterns of 2s, 5s, or 10s. By the end of the book, you realize that being a "prime number" person isn't a bad thing. It just means you’re unique.
Next Steps for Readers and Educators
If you’ve finished the book and want to go deeper, start by looking into the actual botany mentioned in the text. Willow’s obsession with the Citrus x sinensis and other species isn't just filler; it’s scientifically accurate.
For those using this in a classroom, skip the standard "summary" assignments. Instead, have students create their own "categories" like Dell Duke, then explain why those categories fail to describe real people. Or, better yet, look into the history of the Vietnamese community in California, which provides the backbone for the Nguyen family’s backstory.
The beauty of the story is that it stays with you. You’ll find yourself looking at the world a little differently. Maybe you’ll even start counting things. Not because you have to, but because patterns are everywhere, and sometimes, a pattern is the only thing that keeps you grounded when life gets loud.