Music Room. Rachel's rather significantly eyeing the sheet music for "Where Is Love?" when Frankenteen lumbers ungracefully through the music room door. Awkward hellos are exchanged, and then Finn too-casually asks how her date with Jesse St. James went. "It went wonderfully!" Rachel LIES. "Honestly, it wasn't that big of a deal. I mean, it was great, but when it was over, I just didn't know why I was so nervous in the first place."
Smear to the gruesome aftermath of last night's fantasy sequence, with Rachel still locked in the bathroom. "Just come out so we can talk," the silver-tongued Jesse St. James pleads from his side of the door. "Or sing about it." Hee. Rachel eventually opens the door and appears with her virginal lilac capelet still primly fastened around her neck, claiming that she can't go through with it because her teammates in The Glee Club could never approve of this illicit romance, which is total bullshit, but Jesse St. James and his crushworthy hair gallantly accept the excuse.
Smear to the present. For his part, Finn LIES that he's happy for her, and further LIES that he couldn't find it in himself to bed the fantastic Santana Lopez.
Smear to the gruesome aftermath of Finn's deflowering, with Finn sitting shell-shocked on the motel room's bed while Santana Lopez sighs, "Do you think they have room service in this place? 'Cause I want a burger." "I thought I'd feel different," Finn blurts. "Yeah, well, I've noticed it takes about twenty or so times before that feeling of accomplishment really kicks in," Santana Lopez replies. Truer words, people. Truer words. "There's no menu," she notes, bored. "You're gonna have to take me to a burger joint." Heh. Finn's such a loser.
Smear to the present for a brief uncomfortable moment with the would-be couple I no longer care about now that Jesse St. James is on the show, and then it's over to Will's office, where Emma sheepishly raps at the door. Yeah, she didn't go through with it, either, and I am now officially over these storylines, because the loss of someone's virginity is interesting only to the person Doing It for the first time. Unless, you know, you have some sort of morbidly humiliating story we can snicker over long after the fact, in which case, the first round's on me. Until that happens, though: I do not care about your pointless hangups, morons! Next!