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million children in the US live in food-insecure households. They live in homes where going to bed hungry is not only possible, but probable. That number is staggering. And it’s easy to believe that one person can’t make a difference. So spouting that number, then asking for help seems as if you’re asking people to toss pennies into a deep well that has no bottom to it.
    “Or, I can tell you that Amanda will go to bed hungry tonight without your help. Helping one child seems possible.”
    After that little girl in the grocery store, I became more aware of people who didn’t have enough food, and the thought that it could be Amanda in that situation haunted me. “So Amanda is every one of those 15.9 million children. She is every child who needs a winter coat. And she is every child who faces a difficult time in school because she doesn’t know how to read, or doesn’t read well.
    “The name Amanda means deserving to be loved . Every child is that.
    “Tonight, I’m happy to announce that Amanda’s Pantry and our annual Amanda’s Closet will now be offering books, free of charge, to all the Amandas out there.”
    Every fall, the pantry gave out coats to kids who needed them, but this was a new facet of our services. “And while I’m thrilled with your generous coat and hat donations, and I’m hoping you write a big fat check for the pantry, I am not asking for any donations for the bookshelf. I have corporate donors in some of the country’s largest children’s books publishers.”
    I was thrilled about that. Every child who came to the food pantry would receive a book of his or her own. Books—plural—I hoped.
    “So, thank you for coming out tonight, and thank you in advance for your generous donations.” I leaned close to the mic and in a stage whisper said, “That was a not-so-subtle hint. And now, I’m going to get off the stage and turn it over to the Glenwood Hillbillies. Please, feel free to get up and dance, or just visit with your friends. And please remember to open your hearts and your wallets to Amanda .”
    Mom and Dad were in a deep conversation with the people at their table, so I hurried back to Ned’s and collapsed in an empty seat. “Have I ever mentioned that I hate public speaking?” I said to no one in particular.
    Ned snorted. “Yes. Every time there’s an Amanda fund-raiser.”
    “Well, at least I’m predictable,” I said.
    “There has to be more to the name Amanda than you said,” Mela sniped.
    “Like I said, Amanda means worthy of being loved . Every child is that. If I’d called it The Food Pantry or Some Kids’ Food Pantry, it wouldn’t have the same sense of immediacy. People who donate to it have a more intimate response when they’re giving to a specific name. Amanda was the perfect name for the food pantry.”
    That wasn’t a lie. I’d used the line a hundred times, but this time, it felt like one because Ned was sitting next to me listening and I knew it wasn’t the whole story.
    It wouldn’t have felt as much like a lie if I were just saying the words to Mela.
    Ned didn’t seem to notice my evasions. He simply asked, “Where’s Coop tonight?”
    “She had a PTA meeting. Normally, she’d skip, but as a new teacher at the school she felt she had to be there.”
    He nodded and asked, “Have you met everyone at the table?”
    “Mr. Johnson introduced me, but it was a quick-shake-and-nod moment.”
    He smiled. “That’s what I thought.” He nodded at the man on the other side of the vacant chair I’d slid into. “So as a reintroduction, this is Anthony Long. The Johnsons brought him on as a partner last month.”
    Anthony was a nice-looking man who was somewhere between thirty and fifty.
    Why is it that men had so many ageless sorts of years? The thing that made me lean more heavily toward the forties than the thirties was the thinning hair on the crown of his head. I respected the fact that he’d shaved it rather than try for a classic