For whatever reason, the camera goes all bleary-eyed again after it hops on over to The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, though it does eventually manage to focus in on the slow-mo form of Boring New Idiot Rachel, the latter of whom's caught up in a wistful little voiceover involving her deepest-held hopes and dreams for the future. Unfortunately, Boring New Idiot Rachel's back to wearing her absolutely hateful newsboy caps, so I'm finding it difficult to listen to anything she has to say. In fact, Boring New Idiot Rachel's stupid hat is so annoying, it's making me far more interested in the potential backstory of that anonymous bitch-faced Cheerio in the neck brace who's roaming the halls in front of our supposed heroine, so I'm going to avert my eyes from the screen for a moment just so I can yank out the voiceover's important bits for you.

Long story short, Boring New Idiot Rachel's always wanted to sing. I know, I know: Shocking revelation, there. She's therefore both excited and nervous about her featured number in the upcoming Sectionals, though she remains worried about her weight, because Boring New Idiot Rachel is still a fucking moron. During all of that, there's a cute little bit wherein Boring New Idiot Rachel excitedly models her Sectionals outfit for her delighted mother, after which she eventually makes her way to the music room, where she finds New Finn and New Puck playing with each other's balls. Oh, I'm sorry -- I meant "practicing their juggling." Which actually doesn't sound any less filthy, now that I think about it.

Anyway, Boring New Idiot Rachel takes a moment to gaze longingly upon the two abnormally cute guys who are currently vying for her dull affections for whatever unexplainable reasons they might have, then sets a steely expression on her face and thinks to herself, "I can't let them down -- the pressure is on, Marley Rose, and it's like Mama always says: Don't fuck it up."

BreadstiX. We enter just as that jolly raconteur Old Puck finishes regaling his fellow returning graduates with yet another of his winningly arch tales of latter-day life in Los Angeles, and after the others' gay peals of merriment finally subside, Old Puck proposes a toast: "To almost all of us keeping our promise to come home for Thanksgiving."