" Very good, Mr.—?”
“Robinson,” the boy supplied.
Ms. Terwilliger produced a clipboard and scanned a list.
“Ah, there you are. Robinson. Stephanie.”
“Stephan,” corrected the boy, flushing as some of his
friends giggled.
Ms. Terwilliger pushed her glasses up her nose and
squinted. “So you are. Thank goodness. I was just thinking
how difficult your life must be with such a name. My
apologies. I broke my glasses in a freak croquet accident
this weekend, forcing me to bring my old ones today. So,
Stephan-not-Stephanie, you’re correct. It’s a temple. Can
you be more specific?”
...
“Indeed it is,” she said. “And your name is?”
“Sydney.”
“Sydney …” She checked the clipboard and looked up in
astonishment. “Sydney Melbourne? My goodness. You
don’t sound Australian.”
“Er, it’s Sydney Melrose, ma’am,” I corrected.
Ms. Terwilliger scowled and handed the clipboard to
Trey, who seemed to think my name was the funniest thing
ever. “You take over, Mr. Juarez. Your youthful eyes are
better than mine. If I keep at this, I’ll keep turning boys into
girls and perfectly nice young ladies into the descendants
of criminals. "

― Richelle Mead , Bloodlines (Bloodlines, #1)