Janegirl Camp
Chapter 2
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

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Bells hanging over the entrance to the admin building jangled and tinkled when Dad opened the door. Even though it wasn't late enough in the day to have really gotten hot, it was still a relief to go from the mugginess outside to cool, dry air when we walked through the doorway.

An antique looking desk was huddled in the middle of the cramped office we'd entered. A large, cardboard sign that read, 'Camp Signups and Info' was taped to the front of the desk. The pretty lady behind the desk looked up from her monitor, then smiled at us and said, "Good morning!"

I tried saying something back, but nothing came out. I smiled instead, then reached for my dad's hand as we walked in. Yeah, I know eleven-year-old boys ain't supposed to hold hands with their dads. But, at that moment, it was just something I really needed to do.

Dad gave me a reassuring smile while wrapping his fingers around mine. He turned to the lady and grinned, then said, "Good morning," when we stopped in front of her desk.

The lady's fingers froze in place above her keyboard. She blushed the way most women, and a few men do, when my dad talks to them. "Welcome to Janegirl Camp," she said while tucking a strand of reddish-brown hair behind her ear. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Dad nodded and said, "I hope so. I registered my son for camp a few days ago. I believe he's scheduled to be attending an orientation meeting in a few minutes. Could you help us find our way to the meeting?"

"Of course," she said while resting her fingertips on the keyboard. "Could you give me your son's first and last name?"

"Sure. It's Ezekiel McGlyph," he said while giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

Her keyboard clattered as she typed, then she said, "Ah, found him," She turned to me and asked, "You here to support your brother, sweetie?"

"Ummm ..." I said while trying to make sense of the question. "I ... ain't got a brother."

The lady blushed again when she said, "I apologize for the misgendering. With the name your sibling was registered under, I'd made the mistake of assuming --"

Dad let go of my hand and said, "Actually," then stroked the back of my head as he said, "Ezekiel is my only child."

She stared at my dad for a few moments, then said, "When I first saw how ..." she shook her head, then looked at me and said, "I'm so sorry. Is there a name you prefer to use when you're en femme?"

I frowned and asked, "En ... what?"

The lady smiled, then said, "En femme means presenting as a girl."

It took me a second before some of the research my dad and I had done came back to me, and I remembered what presenting meant. I glanced down at myself, just to make sure my clothes hadn't magically changed, then looked up and said, "But ... I'm wearin' boy clothes."

"Perhaps", she said as her smile grew, "but there's more to presentation than what you wear."

"Oh," I said while turning the idea over in my head.

"So," the lady said while letting her hands hover over the keyboard, "Is there anything else you'd like to be called, besides Ezekiel?"

"Well ..." I said while looking up at my dad. When he smiled and nodded, I looked back at the lady and said, "When I'm home, and dressed like a girl, Dad calls me Zee."

"That's a pretty name," she said as she typed.

Even though it was a special name to me, because it was a name my dad gave me, I'd never really thought of it as pretty. Still it felt nice to have someone besides Dad saying anything about me was pretty, so I said, "Thank you."

The lady winked at me while hitting a few more keys, then said, "Okay, everything is all set up. Orientation will be starting in a minute. If you head through the door to your left, and go all the way down to the end of the hall, you should make it to the main assembly area just in time."

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Dad and I searched through rows of metal-and-plastic folding chairs lined up on either side of the huge, crowded room. Eventually, we found a couple of empty seats near the back, and sat down. A few seconds later, an older woman in in a long, grey dress strode up the center aisle.

She hitched up her skirt, then climbed the steps to the low stage at the front of the room. While someone adjusted her microphone, she patted at the loose bun in her dark brown hair. She looked out at her audience when the helper left, and the low murmur around me faded away.

Even though she didn't smile, there was a twinkle in her silver eyes, and a warmth in her voice, when she said, "Good morning, and welcome to Janegirl Camp." A few kids near the front said something I couldn't make out, and she looked at them with might have been a grin.

The almost grin vanished when she looked up at the rest of us, but the warmth in her voice was still there when she said, "My name is Martinique Roberts. As some of you may have heard, I'm the head mistress at a finishing school not too far from here."

The group near the front started chattering, then went quiet when she raised an eyebrow while looking at them. I found myself hoping she'd never give me a look like that when she said, "I'm also the director of this camp. While I'm known as Madam Martinique at school, you may refer to me as Ms Roberts while here at camp."

Ms Roberts scanned the crowd as she said, "I'm sure some of you have questions, and I'll be happy to answer them in a moment. But first, I'd like to answer some of the more common questions, as well as provide a description of what you might expect here at Janegirl Camp."

The camp director wiggled the microphone from its stand, then began strolling from one end of the stage to the other. "The first question I'm usually asked is, 'What is a janegirl?' The short answer is, 'A janegirl is the opposite of a tomboy.' But, just as not all tomboys are exactly alike, the same can be said about janegirls."

She stopped when she reached the middle of the stage, and said, "The second question I'm often asked is, 'Why is this called Janegirl Camp?' Basically, that's because the first camp had been designed as a place where janegirls could feel free to be themselves."

"But," Ms Roberts said as she held up a finger, "after a few years, others started showing up at camp who didn't specifically identify as janegirls. That's when we decided to open Janegirl Camp to anyone who was assigned male at birth, but who didn't always want to act, dress, or identify themselves as male."

She said some more stuff while walking from one side of the stage to the other. I didn't really pay attention. I was too busy wondering what sorts of boys, or not-boys, I'd be meeting at camp. When my dad nudged me in the ribs, I turned to him and said, "Huh?"

"She's answering questions now," he whispered into my ear.

"Oh," I said while my heart started thumping in my chest.

"Did you still want to ask your question?"

"I guess so," I said as I raised my hand.

Before my hand was more than halfway up, Ms Roberts pointed to me, and asked, "Would you like to stand, and give us your name?"

My legs turned into soggy spaghetti when someone handed me a microphone. I managed to stand anyway, then said, "I'm ... umm ... Ezekiel, but if it's easier, ya can call me Zee."

The camp director gave me a warm smile as she said, "Both names sound lovely, but which one is easier to say isn't as important as which one you'd like me to use." Her expression turned a little more serious as she asked, "Which name would you prefer?"

"Well ... I kinda like both, but I usually use Ezekiel when I'm tryin' to hide how I'm ... different. When I'm bein' myself 'round my dad, I usually go by Zee." I swallowed my nervousness, then said, "Since this is a place he said I'd be able to be myself, I'd like to go by Zee here too."

Ms Roberts' smile brightened as she said, "It sounds like you have a very special father."

My cheeks warmed when I nodded and said, "Yeah, I do."

"So, Zee ... what question did you want to ask?"

My mind was a total blank for a moment, then I thought back to what I'd been talking about with my dad in the truck, and said, "How do ya know if you're a janegirl?"

"Well," she said as she rubbed her chin, "a janegirl is a boy who prefers acting or dressing in a way a girl is usually expected to dress or act. Knowing if that, or some other identify fits you, can only be determined by taking a close look at yourself. It also requires you to ask yourself questions, and allowing yourself to be yourself, rather than what others say you should be."

I mumbled something I hoped sounded like, "Thank you," then handed the microphone back before sitting down. I sorta heard others ask questions, but my brain was too busy chewing on what Ms Roberts had said. Janegirl Camp was starting to feel like it'd be something I'd never, ever forget.

If you'd like to find about Martinique Roberts, and the school where she's a head mistress, while she's not being a camp director, you may want to take a look at a story I wrote a while ago, called, "Madam Martinique's Finishing School".