Eight buttons all in a vertical row, stretching up my plaid shirt toward my throat. One two three four five six seven eight. Count them all day if you like, but it will always be one two three four five six seven eight. There are ten stairs leading up to the second floor of the high school. One two three four five, pause at the landing, catch your breath, don’t forget you’re at five stairs, six seven eight nine ten. I count them every time I walk up to the second floor at precisely 11:32 in the morning every other day. They remain the same every time. One two three four five, pause, six seven eight nine ten.

There are three teachers in the room at one time, without fail. One two three: Mrs. Sally, Mr. Donovan, and Ms. Mallory. Every day Mrs. Sally, Mr. Donovan, and Ms. Mallory have to be in the classroom or else it is not right and I cannot count one two three teachers in the room. When Mom drives me home, we have to stop at six stoplights. One two three four five six. If we do not stop at the third stoplight, we have to drive the route again. If we do not stop at the third stoplight, we cannot get home.

It takes Mom four minutes to make me macaroni and cheese for supper at 5:46 every night. She prepares the macaroni at 5:44 and puts it in the microwave at 5:46. If it doesn’t go in the microwave at 5:46, the macaroni does not get done at 5:50 in one two three four minutes. If it does not get done at 5:50 in one two three four minutes, I cannot eat supper.

I get tired at 7:33 when I am sitting on the couch in the right hand corner while Dad rocks in the brown recliner next to me. At 7:39, Dad tells me it is time to prepare for bed and unbuttons the one two three four five six seven eight buttons on my plaid shirt, stretching toward my belly and not my throat. I brush my teeth two times, one two, before I put on my pink pajamas with yawning panda bears.

At 7:51, I climb the one two three four five six seven stairs up to my bedroom while Mom walks two steps behind me, one two. I pull back the right corner of my bedspread, smooth it, peel back the left side, smooth it, roll down the middle, smooth it, and climb into bed. I lay on my left side with my head in the middle of the pillow. Mom gives me one kiss before she turns off the light at exactly 8:00. I take five breaths, one two three four five, before I close my eyes and fall to sleep.

At 7:15 in the morning, Mom shakes my shoulder three, one two three, times until I wake up. I stretch, then make my bed. Pull up the middle of the bedspread, smooth it, then the left side, smooth it, drag up the right corner, and smooth it. I step into my pants first, dark blue with one button. Mom hands me a plaid shirt, a different color every day, and Dad buttons the one two three four five six seven eight buttons, stretching toward my throat.

At 7:33 I walk down the one two three four five six seven stairs and sit at the creaky chair in the middle of the kitchen table. There are two, one two, pieces of buttered wheat toast in front of me. I gobble them up in eleven, one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven, minutes. Dad drives me to school. We stop at six stoplights. One two three four five six. If we do not stop at the third stoplight, we have to drive the route again. If we do not stop at the third stoplight, we are late to school.

Dad parks one two three four spots from the door at 8:02. Mrs. Sally, Mr. Donovan, and Ms. Mallory walk five, one two three four five, steps to Dad’s car. Mrs. Sally takes my backpack, Mr. Donovan takes my lunchbox, and Ms. Mallory takes my hand. We walk five steps into the school at 8:04. One two three four five. Ms. Mallory helps me count the vertical row of eight buttons on my plaid shirt, stretching toward my throat. One two three four five six seven eight. Count them all day if you like, but it will always be one two three four five six seven eight.