"The first time I ever screamed at someone was in a scene, and I'd never screamed at someone in my life." - Neve Campbell
Neve and I were good friends in school. She was the type that was always concerned for others and wanted to be on good terms with everyone. We never fought. We never argued.
The closest we ever came to arguing was the year we learned each other’s middle names. She made the point that her middle name was easy to remember on account of the movie Rocky which had been out for a few years. In it, Sylvester Stallone calls out to his wife, “Adrian? Adrian?” It made remembering her middle name really easy.
After that we took to scolding each other for everything. She would shoot me a dirty look and I would scowl at her and say,
“Neve Adrianne Campbell, don’t you look at me like that!”
She would return fire, “MSN, don’t you talk to me that way!”
It would go back and forth, but it was all in good fun.
There was only ever one time when she lashed out at me. I believe it was in grade 4. One day she arrived in class and I greeted her.
“Good Morning, Nevie.”
She walked right past me to her desk, turned her back to me, crouched down and started looking through her bag.
There was a long silence. I was pretty sure I spoke loud enough for her to hear me, but on the off chance I didn’t, I repeated myself.
“Good Morning, Nevie.”
She just kept looking through her bag and ignoring me.
The last time I talked to her before that was after class the day before. I said goodbye to her when her dad picked her up. She was in a good mood then. Nothing could have happened in the meantime that would give her reason to be upset with me. If something was wrong, it would be nice to know, so I could make amends.
Finally I asked her, “Are you ignoring me?”
At that point she stopped looking through her bag. She stood up. She spun around and she screamed at me, “My name’s Neve! It’s pronounced Neve! It’s not Nevie! It’s not Nevster! It’s Neve. I hate it when people call me Nevie!”
Then she stormed out of the room.
I just stood there stunned and feeling like crap. My classmates were looking at me and we were all wondering the same thing. “What the hell was that all about?”
For her to do that was peculiar for two reasons.
First, she had never yelled at anyone before. This girl was so sweet and shy. She worried constantly about how people viewed her. For her to throw a tirade like that was completely out of character for her.
Secondly, we had been calling her Nevie since kindergarten. It wasn’t just a few students either. It was everyone, teachers and students alike. Since when was her name pronounced Neve? That’s when someone suggested that maybe she got married the night before and had her given name changed. We all laughed about that.
When she returned to class, it was everything I could do to apologize. She was too important of a friend to let her be upset with me. After apologizing, I asked, “If your name was pronounced Neve, why didn’t you say anything all these years? We’ve been calling you that since kindergarten.”
Then she replied, “Well you all know Sammy hates being called Samuel, but you call him that anyway. I figured if I said something sooner, everyone would just keep calling me Nevie to bug me.”
She did have a point there.
Sammy Maltby’s legal name on his birth certificate and on all the school records was Samuel. When his mother signed him up for school she made the point of telling our teachers that he would start crying if anyone called him that, so she asked our teachers to call him either Sammy or Sam instead. When Sam introduced himself to us in kindergarten, he introduced himself as Sammy.
A year or two later we were in class and we had a substitute teacher. She was doing roll call and when she got to Sammy’s name she called out Samuel. Nobody answered.
“Samuel!”
“Samuel?”
When nobody answered, the kids in our class were all looking at each other and wondering who Samuel was. There was nobody in our class by that name. There was a Sammy, but….
That’s when we looked back at Sammy. His eyes were big and wide. His face was beet red, but he refused to answer. He figured if he didn’t reply he could still keep this a secret from us.
After roll call we started talking among ourselves.
“The teacher never called Maltby did she?”
“Nope”
“Who is Samuel?”
“No idea.”
Just then, Maltby got up out of his chair and went to talk to the teacher. Then he went back to his seat. We knew something was going on.
When the teacher left the classroom for something, a few of us went up to her desk to look at that attendance sheet. There it was. Samuel Maltby. We held up the attendance sheet and looked at him. He just sat there looking back at us.
“Oh guys! I didn’t want anyone to know that. Please don’t call me that.”
He was so embarrassed.
What made matters worse, was that Sammy Maltby was the class prankster. If anyone from that class were to bring a whoopee cushion to school or pull your chair away as you sat down, it was him. He terrorized us with his pranks. Now we had found his akiles heel and nothing bothered him more than being called Samuel.
While it is true that we called him Samuel at every opportunity in the days that followed, eventually the thrill of calling him that wore off and we went back to calling him Maltby, since we always referred to each other by our last names in that class. We did, however, keep it like a trump card in our back pockets in case his pranks started up. It was something we would use to keep him in his place.
Not only that, but Maltby was completely affable. We could bug him and he could take it. Not only could he take it, but he dished it out very well too. Nobody was ever cruel to him, nor did he go overboard with his pranks. It was all in good fun.
Neve, on the other hand, was fragile. She never insulted anyone, not even in fun and she never played pranks. She was always serious about everything. It was like walking on granola when you talked to her, because you knew it would take very little to hurt her.
I told Neve, “Yeah, but that’s Sammy. We like bugging him. We would never have called you that if we had known.”
Her reply, “Well you know now, so let’s see if that theory holds true.”
From that point on it became a point of honor that her name was pronounced Neve. Whenever anyone called her Nevie the class would go silent. The people standing closest to that person would start to tip toe away quietly as not to be standing to close when the lightning came from the sky and struck them down.
Whenever we had a substitute, someone would make a point of telling the teacher how to pronounce her name before roll call.
“See this girl? Yeah, her name is pronounced Neve, you have to say it Neve or she’ll ki…she’s gonna ki…...”
“You’ll die.”
“And then you’ll be dead.”
Ironically, the one person in the class who had the most trouble getting her name straight after that was our class scatterbrain, Maltby.
One day he went up to her and said, “Hey Nevie? I mean Neve. I mean……wait. Which one is it?”
Neve just stared at him and said, “Careful Sammy. We all know what you don’t like being called.”
Then Sammy replied, “Oh, I know……but I can’t remember…….oh!”
Then he ran away.
Neve and I were good friends in school. She was the type that was always concerned for others and wanted to be on good terms with everyone. We never fought. We never argued.
The closest we ever came to arguing was the year we learned each other’s middle names. She made the point that her middle name was easy to remember on account of the movie Rocky which had been out for a few years. In it, Sylvester Stallone calls out to his wife, “Adrian? Adrian?” It made remembering her middle name really easy.
After that we took to scolding each other for everything. She would shoot me a dirty look and I would scowl at her and say,
“Neve Adrianne Campbell, don’t you look at me like that!”
She would return fire, “MSN, don’t you talk to me that way!”
It would go back and forth, but it was all in good fun.
There was only ever one time when she lashed out at me. I believe it was in grade 4. One day she arrived in class and I greeted her.
“Good Morning, Nevie.”
She walked right past me to her desk, turned her back to me, crouched down and started looking through her bag.
There was a long silence. I was pretty sure I spoke loud enough for her to hear me, but on the off chance I didn’t, I repeated myself.
“Good Morning, Nevie.”
She just kept looking through her bag and ignoring me.
The last time I talked to her before that was after class the day before. I said goodbye to her when her dad picked her up. She was in a good mood then. Nothing could have happened in the meantime that would give her reason to be upset with me. If something was wrong, it would be nice to know, so I could make amends.
Finally I asked her, “Are you ignoring me?”
At that point she stopped looking through her bag. She stood up. She spun around and she screamed at me, “My name’s Neve! It’s pronounced Neve! It’s not Nevie! It’s not Nevster! It’s Neve. I hate it when people call me Nevie!”
Then she stormed out of the room.
I just stood there stunned and feeling like crap. My classmates were looking at me and we were all wondering the same thing. “What the hell was that all about?”
For her to do that was peculiar for two reasons.
First, she had never yelled at anyone before. This girl was so sweet and shy. She worried constantly about how people viewed her. For her to throw a tirade like that was completely out of character for her.
Secondly, we had been calling her Nevie since kindergarten. It wasn’t just a few students either. It was everyone, teachers and students alike. Since when was her name pronounced Neve? That’s when someone suggested that maybe she got married the night before and had her given name changed. We all laughed about that.
When she returned to class, it was everything I could do to apologize. She was too important of a friend to let her be upset with me. After apologizing, I asked, “If your name was pronounced Neve, why didn’t you say anything all these years? We’ve been calling you that since kindergarten.”
Then she replied, “Well you all know Sammy hates being called Samuel, but you call him that anyway. I figured if I said something sooner, everyone would just keep calling me Nevie to bug me.”
She did have a point there.
Sammy Maltby’s legal name on his birth certificate and on all the school records was Samuel. When his mother signed him up for school she made the point of telling our teachers that he would start crying if anyone called him that, so she asked our teachers to call him either Sammy or Sam instead. When Sam introduced himself to us in kindergarten, he introduced himself as Sammy.
A year or two later we were in class and we had a substitute teacher. She was doing roll call and when she got to Sammy’s name she called out Samuel. Nobody answered.
“Samuel!”
“Samuel?”
When nobody answered, the kids in our class were all looking at each other and wondering who Samuel was. There was nobody in our class by that name. There was a Sammy, but….
That’s when we looked back at Sammy. His eyes were big and wide. His face was beet red, but he refused to answer. He figured if he didn’t reply he could still keep this a secret from us.
After roll call we started talking among ourselves.
“The teacher never called Maltby did she?”
“Nope”
“Who is Samuel?”
“No idea.”
Just then, Maltby got up out of his chair and went to talk to the teacher. Then he went back to his seat. We knew something was going on.
When the teacher left the classroom for something, a few of us went up to her desk to look at that attendance sheet. There it was. Samuel Maltby. We held up the attendance sheet and looked at him. He just sat there looking back at us.
“Oh guys! I didn’t want anyone to know that. Please don’t call me that.”
He was so embarrassed.
What made matters worse, was that Sammy Maltby was the class prankster. If anyone from that class were to bring a whoopee cushion to school or pull your chair away as you sat down, it was him. He terrorized us with his pranks. Now we had found his akiles heel and nothing bothered him more than being called Samuel.
While it is true that we called him Samuel at every opportunity in the days that followed, eventually the thrill of calling him that wore off and we went back to calling him Maltby, since we always referred to each other by our last names in that class. We did, however, keep it like a trump card in our back pockets in case his pranks started up. It was something we would use to keep him in his place.
Not only that, but Maltby was completely affable. We could bug him and he could take it. Not only could he take it, but he dished it out very well too. Nobody was ever cruel to him, nor did he go overboard with his pranks. It was all in good fun.
Neve, on the other hand, was fragile. She never insulted anyone, not even in fun and she never played pranks. She was always serious about everything. It was like walking on granola when you talked to her, because you knew it would take very little to hurt her.
I told Neve, “Yeah, but that’s Sammy. We like bugging him. We would never have called you that if we had known.”
Her reply, “Well you know now, so let’s see if that theory holds true.”
From that point on it became a point of honor that her name was pronounced Neve. Whenever anyone called her Nevie the class would go silent. The people standing closest to that person would start to tip toe away quietly as not to be standing to close when the lightning came from the sky and struck them down.
Whenever we had a substitute, someone would make a point of telling the teacher how to pronounce her name before roll call.
“See this girl? Yeah, her name is pronounced Neve, you have to say it Neve or she’ll ki…she’s gonna ki…...”
“You’ll die.”
“And then you’ll be dead.”
Ironically, the one person in the class who had the most trouble getting her name straight after that was our class scatterbrain, Maltby.
One day he went up to her and said, “Hey Nevie? I mean Neve. I mean……wait. Which one is it?”
Neve just stared at him and said, “Careful Sammy. We all know what you don’t like being called.”
Then Sammy replied, “Oh, I know……but I can’t remember…….oh!”
Then he ran away.
