The rest of Debbie's senior year was unremarkable. She and Herald still hung out, but having dated his sister somehow took a toll on the relationship in a way that Debbie couldn't quite explain. Their conversations became more and more dull and their dinners increasingly infrequent. By the time graduation day rolled around, the most they could venture was a hug and a signature in each other's yearbooks. Herald was heading across the coasts to attend Stanford like he had always wanted. As for Debbie, she was off to Dartmouth. Her parents were proud, but deeply sad to see their daughter go out of state. They told her if she ever changed her mind and wanted to attend school nearby they would always welcome her back. Debbie just laughed. She knew she was going to love Dartmouth.
However, when she settled into campus life, she was not so sure. Dartmouth was a bit secluded for her tastes. There were only about three thousand students total, and they were located in the small town of Hanover, a town that almost existed around the college and had a population barely double the student body. Furthermore, the students were not quite what she had expected. She should have known better from her talks with Niki but she guessed that the alcohol and excitement of being away from home had given her rose colored glasses because she was feeling very disappointed about the number of filthy rich kids that were not even attending their own classes. They were legacy students who had gotten into the school because of their parents and they treated it like a sleep away camp. They drove fancy cars, smoked lots of pot, got drunk and snorted cocaine, and hung out in small cliques. They were all guaranteed jobs after graduation at their parent's firms, and they just had secretaries go to their classes and take notes for them. These secretaries even did their homework, wrote their essays, and sat in on their exams. It was truly fucked up. This was Debbie's first real taste of the world of extreme wealth, and it left a sour note in her mouth. She was always glad when their parents sent for them by private jet every Friday so they could go home for the weekend and leaver her in peace.
Then again, there were plenty of people there who were truly brilliant. They were not super rich, and most of them were very nice and down to earth, if not a bit awkward. Debbie found friends in these people and she had a lot of great conversations.
During her first week at school, Debbie decided that she wanted to major in languages. She thought that might help her get into the Navy and later the CIA. Her freshman advisor, luckily, happened to be on the language faculty at Dartmouth. He was a kindly older man who wore wire framed glasses and had thick, graying hair. He was trim and sophisticated, and he had a real commanding air about him. His name was Professor Donaldson, and when Debbie told him that her dream was to become a Navy SEAL, join the CIA, and help save the world, he took her seriously and helped her to formulate a plan. Over the years, Debbie had learned to express her dreams in a calm, confident and convincing manner, and Prof. Donaldson was honestly amazed at Debbie's viewpoint on life.
"I can definitely help you, Miss Brown. But I want to tell you right now that the road ahead of you is a wicked one filled with a lot of work. I mean a lot of work. I hope you are ready for that," he told her. Debbie said she was prepared for all the work. "Well then, my thought is that to be most marketable to the Navy and the CIA it will be best to develop your language skills to the point that you exceed all others. Not just in your ability to speak a language but in the number of languages you know. The more the better. So, what I would like to suggest is that you specialize in language and that you triple major in Chinese, Arabic, and Romance Languages. This is something that has never been done before by a student at Dartmouth. But, I see you are a serious girl and I think if you are willing to meet with me every week, stay away from the boys on campus, and study hard and follow all of my suggestions, this will be doable. So what do you think, Miss Brown?" Miss Brown told him to call her Debbie and she shook his hand and said it was a plan. And a good one at that. She liked Prof. Donaldson. In a way, he reminded her of her father and that was comforting. They set an agenda for the semester, and they would continue to work together very closely over the next four years to help Debbie accomplish her dreams.
Since Debbie was not part of the wealthy crowd, she needed to find a part time job. Considering her rigorous study schedule and how many hours she was required to be in classes, she had a hard time finding a job that would work with her schedule and not be too demanding of her attention. She ended up settling on being a dishwasher after the dinner service in one of the dining halls. So she started working in Thayer Hall, the main dining hall at Dartmouth, also known as the Class of 1953 Commons. In addition to the biggest dining hall on campus, the building housed the Dartmouth Card Office, and Sarner Underground, a 24 hour student social space, as well as the Paganucci Lounge and Dartmouth's board room. It was a busy place. And the food that was served was beyond belief. It was some really nice stuff. For 18 hours a day it hosted an all you can eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffett. Offerings included steak, scallops, shrimp, ice cream, pancakes, unlimited amounts of coffee, and really anything you could imagine wanting to eat. And of course, someone had to clean it up.
So Debbie worked on the line, scraping the uneaten food off the endless plates that came down the conveyer belt, depositing it in a giant, stinking garbage bin, and then loading the plates into a big Hobart dishwasher. Sometimes the rich kids left nasty little notes on their plates for the cleaning staff. Or else they just made a mess on purpose because they never had to clean a single thing in their lives and they thought it was great fun and giggles. Debbie did not let it get to her. She worked next to a foreign student named Xin Jung who was originally from Beijing. He came from a very poor family in China but he had worked so hard in school and won a scholarship to an American university. He never talked much, and Debbie let him be. But one day she decided to ask her about why he came to Dartmouth. He answered her in a perfect English with a very thick accent: "My family is very poor. My country is poor. Everyone needs my help. So I come here, I study hard and I work hard to help my family and my country." That was all he said to Debbie in nine weeks of working together. And he sure did work hard. He never missed a single day.
In the midst of her part time job, her triple major, and the regular hazards of freshman life, Debbie managed to start a small Wing Chun club. She realized that no one on campus, not even Xin Jung, knew the art of Wing Chun and she decided that she wanted to teach it to someone. Somehow, it turned out that the people who were drawn to Debbie as a teacher were fellow lesbians. There was a small group of girls, only five, that came to Debbie. There was a mousy, shy bookworm named Candice Jones. She was deeply afraid of men and was having a hard time adjusting to Dartmouth after attending an all girls school. She wanted to learn Wing Chun so she could feel more safe on campus. Then there was Amanda Stockton. She was a thick and boisterous dyke type with short cropped hair. She just wanted to kick some ass and she thought Debbie was hot, so she decided to learn. There were the twins Hannah and Josie Childs. When they were girls they had lived for many years as expats in China, and they wanted to know more about that culture. And finally there was Tanya Griswald. She was a hot blond senior who was sure that the way to get in Debbie's pants was through Wing Chun.
Since the girls showed such interest and promise and Debbie was having a real hard time fitting everything in her schedule, they finally decided that they would pay Debbie so she could quit her job in the dining hall and devote herself to studying and being their teacher. It worked out quite well. Debbie was much happier and her spirit felt much freer. She was a humble woman, but cleaning off pasted on condiments and melted ice cream somehow felt a bit beneath her. She felt bad for Xin Jung in saying that but it just wasn't her thing.
Debbie taught her pupils well, just as Helen had taught her. The days turned into weeks, into months, into years. The Wing Chun club really took off and they had taken home awards at several regional exhibitions. Debbie gained a good reputation as a teacher, and she began to tour colleges in the region giv
ing talks and demonstrations of her skills. She was especially popular among lesbian groups. Before she even knew it, Debbie had become an outspoken lesbian activist. It was all well and good and Debbie felt happy to help young women like herself, but she was concerned when Prof. Donaldson scheduled a special meeting with her at the end of her junior year to discuss her progress and an "issue of concern."
At the meeting, Prof. Donaldson raised some worries. "I'm not saying there is anything wrong with being out of the closet, but you are already aiming to be the first female Navy SEAL, and you know the armed forces have not been the friendliest toward gays. Aren't you concerned that being an outspoken lesbian is going to jeopardize everything that you have worked so hard for?" There was real concern on his face. Debbie thought for a moment. She relied on her Wing Chun training to calm herself and see a clear path. She saw that there were two options here. She could become worried and sucked into the concerns of her professor, or she could remain calm and forge her own path. She thought hard, and then she answered her professor. "Respectfully, professor, people cannot be put into boxes. Women can't be put into boxes, Navy SEALS can't be put into boxes, and lesbians definitely can't be put into boxes. Now if I am going to go in there and convince these people I have what it takes to be the first woman to complete their training, then it isn't going to matter if I am a lesbian or not. I am already out of the box of all their expectations. So why not just add another thing to the list. It will just be a big PR bonus for them anyway. The first lesbian SEAL. Sounds great, doesn't it? They will sell a lot of magazines and shirts and stuff like that. So, no, I am not worried, and I am not going to change myself to fit into someone else's box. Before I came to Dartmouth I visited the campus and heard a very bright, wealthy young lesbian give a talk. She said to avoid anyone who tries to put you in a box. If that ultimately means I can't be a Navy SEAL, well it is better than being in a box, professor. But somehow I think things will all work out."
Prof. Donaldson was not quite so sure, but he knew Debbie was a strong woman who could chose her own path so he promised not to interfere. "It was just a passing concern, Debbie. I hope you don't think anything more of it. As long as your mind is made up I am fully behind you. Besides, you have been making great marks in your schooling and I hear that your command of Wing Chun is unparalleled amongst American women. The Navy would be idiotic not to accept a brilliant woman like you into their ranks."
And that was that. The summer rolled past and the first week of September of her final year of college rolled around. Debbie was now a senior, and although she was not the most popular girl in college she had a great following of martial arts students who respected her deeply and she had all sorts of friends from all around the world who helped her practice her foreign language skills. She was on the top of her game in all respects. And she had the deepest gratitude towards Prof. Donaldson who had been a true mentor to her, keeping her on track and always providing her with uplifting inspiration and helpful advice. Without him, she was not sure she would have done so well.
Now it just so happened that there was a new girl who had transferred into Debbie's dorm room. She was a sexy, straight female Junior named Leslie. She was a typical college bimbo type. She was smart, but she spent most of her time partying. She had long, straight blonde hair that she kept down, flowing just above the top of her butt. She was slim and trim and she was a member of the cross country team. She could often be found wearing Victoria's Secret PINK bra tops and tight leggings, showing off her nice female abs. She was the kind of girl that all of the guys went gaga over, and for some reason she had decided that she wanted to be best buds with the famous Debbie Brown before Debbie graduated and left Dartmouth for good. The first bonding experience she had in mind was a big frat party.
Debbie was by no means a party girl, and she had stayed away from all the fraternities during her past three years on campus because she did not get along with the frat boy types. It wasn't that they were blockheads. A lot of them were very smart and capable guys. But they chose to act like block heads, and that was what got Debbie so riled up. The frats were the epitome of beer, bigotry, and ignorance. Not to mention all the frats were all male and all white, another thing that got Debbie's blood boiling when she thought about it for too long. But for some reason, this time she said fuck it and decided to accept Leslie's invitation to attend the opening night at Sigma Fu. The Fraternity was welcoming all the freshman who wanted to pledge Sigma Fu and deal with all the crazy crap they had to put up with during rush week. Debbie could never believe that grown men would let themselves be paddled, pissed on, and shaved bald all just to join some stupid frat. But men tended to have a love for all things stupid so it really shouldn't have been such a surprise to her after all.
Always the good Ivy Leaguer, Debbie had a lot of studying to do before she could attend the frat party. She was off to the library, she promised to text Leslie when she was ready to go. Debbie found herself startled from her advanced Chinese text book when her phone started vibrating. She picked up and heard a very cranky Leslie. "Come on, Debbie. It's past midnight. We are going to miss all the fun at this point!" Leslie whined, "I think you have studied enough for one night. Besides, you promised." Something about the way Leslie chirped out the word promised, long and high pitched and drawn out, made Debbie want to slam the phone down on the big wooden library table hard—hard enough to shatter it into a million little pieces. But she resisted the urge, took a deep breath, and told Leslie to meet her outside the library in ten minutes.
By the time the two girls finally made it to Sigma Fu house, Leslie was right, they had missed most of the party. The frat brothers were all heavily intoxicated. There were several casualties already passed out on the house couches snoring loudly. They had penises drawn in sharpie marker on their forehead and all sorts of horrible slurs written all over their body. Most were naked, but some of the older frat brothers had been allowed to retain their boxers. No one was spared the sharpie though, no matter their rank. The ones who were still standing were barely succeeding at that. They were stumbling, puking, and falling down. The whole place smelled like puke and piss. It was disgusting. Debbie regretted leaving the library.
Still, somehow their appearance seemed to snap the drunk and slovenly brothers to attention. Debbie Brown was, after all, beautiful. And Leslie was, to the traditional frat brother, even more gorgeous. Two hot babes with big tits showing up late to the party was sure to grab eyes, and before long the fifty or so people in the main floor of the frat house had their eyeballs glued to Debbie and Leslie. There were only about ten women in the entire crowd, and none of them sparkled the way the two girls did. The music was still going loud despite the dwindled crowd, and the kegs were still flowing. "Let's get a drink, Debbie," Leslie suggested, ignoring all the masculine stares at her tits. She was used to it. Debbie didn't really even know how to work a keg, she had always avoided these sorts of big, loud, drunk situations and she was glad she did, but Leslie knew just what to do. But as she was filling up a plastic cup for Debbie, a large, football playing frat boy ran up behind her, picked her up around the waist, and started spinning her around in the air, spilling beer everywhere, including all over Debbie's hair.
"EEeek," Leslie screamed, "put me down!" Although Leslie had experience with drunken party boys, she actually looked genuinely scared. She was probably worried this drunk skunk was going to drop her and break her hip. She dropped the now empty cup and began pounding on his wide, brawny back, but it didn't make a difference or slow him down for a second. She was like a tiny fly buzzing around his head. In spite of her protests, the frat boy did not stop spinning and he was clearly getting stupid and dizzy.
Debbie got in front of him, right up in his face, and screamed for him to stop. She screamed loud. Very very loud. So loud that everyone in the whole frat house heard her. So loud that the obnoxious blaring music seemed like a soft whisper, so loud that she almost blew out the dude's ear drums. She had everyone's attenti
on. The guy stopped spinning, and he looked at Debbie and growled deeply. A circle of his frat brothers formed around Debbie, and one of them stepped forward. "And what the fuck are you going to do if he doesn't stop, bitch?" That last word was punctuated with a hiss, spittle flying from his nasty lips. Debbie was really pissed now. The boys who couldn't see her face were laughing, but the one who had been spinning Leslie was up close and personal with her mean mug and he was having second thoughts. He put Leslie down, and she yelped and ran and hid behind Debbie.
"I'll tell you what I am gonna do, dickhead," Debbie said gritting her teeth. "First, I'm going to take my right foot and kick your face so hard that you won't get up for a week. And then every one of your frat brothers that is laughing, I am going to kick all of their asses." More laughter. And then it all went down.
Debbie kicked the big oaf square in the face and with all of his size he fell like a brick house, making a giant thud as he hit the floor that shook all the glasses in the cabinets and made one of the onlooking chicks loose her balance and fall over. The circle of frat brothers tried to swarm her, but they were no match for Debbie and her Wing Chun. She took each one down easily, bobbing and weaving between their sloppy movements and administering graceful and strong punches and kicks. Within thirty seconds there were fifteen big old boys laying on the floor knocked clean out.
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