“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 hisfriends giggled.Ms. Terwilliger pushed her glasses up her nose andsquinted. “So you are. Thank goodness. I was just thinkinghow difficult your life must be with such a name. Myapologies. I broke my glasses in a freak croquet accidentthis weekend, forcing me to bring my old ones today. So,Stephan-not-Stephanie, you’re correct. It’s a temple. Canyou be more specific?”...“Indeed it is,” she said. “And your name is?”“Sydney.”“Sydney …” She checked the clipboard and looked up inastonishment. “Sydney Melbourne? My goodness. Youdon’t sound Australian.”“Er, it’s Sydney Melrose, ma’am,” I corrected.Ms. Terwilliger scowled and handed the clipboard toTrey, who seemed to think my name was the funniest thingever. “You take over, Mr. Juarez. Your youthful eyes arebetter than mine. If I keep at this, I’ll keep turning boys intogirls and perfectly nice young ladies into the descendantsof criminals.”

“„Ma'am?“She glanced up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose as she did. “Hmm? Oh, I remember you. Miss Melbourne.““Melrose,“ I corrected.“Are you sure? I could've sworn you were named after someplace in Australia.“„Well, my first name is Sydney,“ I said, not sure if I should be encouraging her.”

“In the future, it’ll be my child, but it will be my child’s life, so I must name it not for me, but for it. I like how that sounds. I think I’ll call it “It.” Boy or girl, It is perfect.
”

“The city was the perfect place, it was... Heaven. And when I got here people said: who are you? But I thought they were asking where so I said, Heaven.’Melrose sucks his pen. ‘And that became your name.’‘It’s not my name. It’s just what people call me.”

“Mrs. Faulkner had sidled up to me and said Good day, Mrs. Elliot?I just looked at her, and I saw in her eyes that she was wanting some kind of approval for her boy because of his career ahead, and she suddenly just looked like an old lady, not fancy and rich and frightening. An old lady whose son admired my husband, and who herself would be as helpless in the Territories as a newborn calf and not nearly as useful. Good day, I said back. It is a funny thing how much more proud people can be of themselves if they never step back and take a good look in a glass.”

“But my friend IS the sea, Mr. Diego. He has been my friend since I was very young, my only friend, and I can't bear to hear him crying. he's lonely. I came here to keep him company.""Boy, the sea is not your friend, especially not today." "Excuse me, Mr. Diego, but I think you are wrong. He is my friend, he says good morning to me every day.”