The camera finds Will sitting alone in the festively decorated McKinley faculty lounge, casually attired in a holiday-themed sweater vest while nibbling on a casually themed holiday cookie. Emma soon appears in the doorway and hesitantly picks her way across the room to greet him with a meek-sounding, "Hey." Studiously maintaining an air of affable disinterest, Will barely glances up from his paper to respond in kind. Emma takes a moment to steel herself for what follows and, taking the seat opposite him, she asks, "Are we okay?" Will feigns surprise at the question, so Emma plunges on with, "We haven't really talked since I told you about me and Carl -- I mean, we haven't talked at all. Are you avoiding me?" "Not at all," Will LIES with much shrugging of shoulders and popping of eyebrows. An uncomfortable silence ensues until Emma changes the subject by wondering, "So, what are you doing for Christmas this year?" Will announces he'll be spending a little quiet time alone, thank you very much, so Emma of course tries to make him feel like a completely worthless piece of crap by squealing, "You can't spend Christmas by yourself! That's horrible!" "Carl and I are having a big Christmas Eve party," she continues, trying to be helpful while ending up being quite the opposite. "Please at least stop by." Will thanks her kindly for that most unwelcome invitation, then rather bluntly suggests they "keep things separate for a while." Emma's smile falters a bit at this, but she agrees that perhaps it's for the best. They stare into each other's eyes for a few very long seconds until the dulcet tones of Coach Beiste arrive from somewhere off camera to interrupt all of the awkwardness.
"Okay, educators, gather 'round!" Beiste bellows. "It's time to pick your Secret Santa!" Beiste has placed each faculty member's name in a "tub" that once contained a truly massive amount of protein powder and, well, you can figure out the rest. Emma's second to pull a strip of paper from the jar, and the instant she sees the name written she's received, she rolls those bush-baby eyes of hers all the way into the back of her skull. She quickly puts on a brave little face for Will's benefit, though -- a bit of intentional misdirection meant to make us believe she drew his name, I'm guessing -- and Will sticks his arm in the jar to pull out a slip that reads, simply, "Sue." Will sighs.
Out in the hall, Brittany's helping Artie decorate the interior of his locker, and it's really quite elaborate, what with the ornaments and strings of functioning lights and nutcrackers and such. As dear little Brit-Brit hangs a miniature stocking in one of the corners, she confides, "Last year? I left my stocking up over Christmas vacation? An entire family of mice started living in it? Their Christmas gift to each other was rabies?" Artie, whose sporting a truly fugly holiday sweater, replies with a little confidence of his own. "I told my parents that I only want one thing for Christmas this year: Stop friend-requesting me on Facebook." Dear little Brit-Brit beams at this, then thinks to ask, "What are you asking Santa for?" Artie's all, "I'm sorry?" but dear little Brit-Brit is dead serious. "Artie," she chides, "the roads to the North Pole are getting treacherous. You need to write your letter to Santa really fast and get it in the mail today." Artie gapes. Brittany, oblivious (go figure), adds, "And remember: Even the smallest envelope is heavy for an elf." With that, she turns to float off down the hallway, leaving the flabbergasted Artie alone to breathe, "No. Way!" Casually themed title card. And by that, I mean it's green instead of black.