It was rare for Jesse to take the morning off. Shelby once told him that everything he wanted was not on the other side of fear, but rather, discipline. It was said in passing, just one of the many lessons she's imparted on him throughout the years. But he had hung on to it. Tested it. And found that she was right. Ever since he had begun to apply himself — really apply himself, deliberately and consistently, it had paid off. So that's why he was often the first one in and the last one out of rehearsals, why he religiously hit the weight room in the mornings, the practice rooms in the evenings, and why he rarely gave himself a break.

But after yesterday's funking at McKinley and a restless night replaying Rachel's caustic glare and vows of revenge over and over again in his head, he felt like he needed one — a break, that is, just a little bit of time to regroup and get his head back in the game.

So, he slept in. Ate a real breakfast for once. Drove the long way to school. Sang through Bohemian Rhapsody in the parking lot to start off his day. And for the first time in more than 24 hours, he felt somewhat relaxed, like it would all be okay. Rachel would forgive him. Shelby would understand. Everything was going to be perfectly fine.

But the second he entered the expansive halls of Carmel High School — a penetrating feeling of regret immediately swept right through him.

His misgivings were only confirmed when he caught a glimpse of Giselle, yards away, her hands in the air, seemingly arguing with one of the Vocal Adrenaline freshmen. Jesse frowned a moment later when he saw a door open further down the hall and the rest of his teammates spill out. They all stalked towards the building exit that led outside to the back parking lot, identical looks of sullen disgust planted firmly across their faces.

He then returned his attention back to Giselle, who was now striding quickly down the hallway, advancing towards him with an expression that was usually reserved only for him when he was messing something up in their private rehearsals with Shelby.

"What's going on? Where's everyone going? What happened?"

She clearly hadn't noticed him approaching and jumped back when he spoke. He saw the surprise in her dark eyes bleed away as she looked at him and recognition turned into sheer irritation.

"Rachel Berry. That's what happened."

"Rachel did what?" Shelby asked incredulously, her mouth hanging open while she reviewed the list of open casting calls for actresses – listings with her exact profile – that had just been offered to her moments earlier.

"Oh yeah," her long-time agent, Marty Walker, confirmed with a slow nod. The pair were sitting across from one another in his Manhattan office of the industry-leading talent agency Marty was currently a partner at.

"Yep. She emailed me the other night and told me to make sure to add it to our agenda for our meeting today."

"She didn't."

"Oh, but she did. Why are you surprised? She is your daughter after all."

She flushed with happiness at that remark, and Marty had to hide his amusement. Having met when they were classmates at NYU, he's known Shelby for the better part of almost two decades now. He'd always maintained that one of the luckiest breaks he's ever had in life was accidentally sitting next to one Shelby Corcoran during his freshman year honors seminar at Tisch. He hadn't known then when he asked her to compare notes on a whim that it would inadvertently lead to the very successful career he had now as a talent agent, one that was buoyed by his first college friend turned first acting client.

"No, I know," Shelby smiled positively, shaking her head now. "I'm sorry. She shouldn't have done that. I can't believe it… how did she even get your email address?"

"Remember when I tried calling you a couple months ago? And Rachel was at home alone because she was grounded or something, and then we ended up staying on the phone together for two hours brainstorming ideas for a potential cabaret show for you? She wouldn't hang up until we exchanged contact information."

"No."

"She's been emailing me at least once a week since then – to talk about your career. We're, basically like, pen pals at this point. It's pretty cute. And kind of impressive, honestly."

"No."

"In fact, just last week, she sent me a nearly two-thousand-word marketing strategy on how we can possibly utilize your show choir coaching background to launch a new phase of your career – a plan to bridge the two quite seamlessly, I might add. Oh and, admittedly this one is a bit more random, she also thinks you should consider writing a children's book because you're good at making up bedtime stories for your niece and nephew? I'm intrigued."

"No."

From behind his office desk, Marty broke out in raucous laughter this time. "Shel, seriously, why are you so surprised? She's just like you! That was exactly how you were when we were in school. You were so type A. You literally still are."

"Aw come on, I wasn't that bad."

"No," he agreed, smirking at the uncharacteristic pout directed his way. "And it definitely wasn't bad for me because you and the strict study schedule you kept us to was pretty much the only reason why I was able to graduate with an honor's degree. My parents still ask about you all the time, by the way. What was that thing you always said about discipline? Something about how discipline is just choosing between what you want now and what you want most?"

"Hmmm… everything you've ever wanted is on the other side of discipline," she stated the familiar, worn-out mantra. "My dad taught me that."

"Oh yeah?" Marty stood up, moving to perch on the edge of his desk to be closer to his friend. "How's he doing? And Anne and Kim?"

"He's going to be okay," Shelby bristled uncomfortably in her seat, letting out a long exhale when his concerned gaze met her own. "Yeah, um, he's fine now. Thank you for asking. And everyone's doing well. Lots and lots of changes, but we're taking it in stride. We're all still processing the Rachel of it all, you know?"

"Yeah sure," Marty nodded, leaning over to touch her arm in a comforting manner. "I get that. God, I can't believe you're a mom to a teenager. I really should come out to visit again soon, especially to meet Rachel. I have got to see and meet Shelby 2.0 in real life."

"You are welcome to visit Lima anytime, but you and Rachel are absolutely not allowed to be alone in the same room together. You two will send me off on some sort of world tour by the end of it."

Marty threw his head back in laughter again then crossed his arms across his chest. "Well, let me know if Rachel is looking for an internship. I think we're hiring this summer."

"She is 14 years old. Do not indulge her."

Marty shook his head in complete amusement. "So, is that what you're also like as a mom?"

"What do you mean?" She asked for clarification, sitting up slightly.

"Like… all strict… and disciplined? You know? Like college Shelby? Wicked Shelby? Coach Corcoran Shelby? Basically, every iteration of you Shelby?"

Shelby's lips hinted upward at the joke, but only just. "Oh, I don't know. I think Rachel would definitely say I am… but I guess, maybe? I mean yeah, sometimes I feel like I'm obsessing too much, caring too much. But I'm just trying and operating the only way I've ever known how. You know? Just like… trying the best I can to the best of my ability. Every day. Hoping it pays off."

"I think it is," Marty answered confidently, flipping through his memories, years of witnessing Shelby's steadfast discipline, her commitment to consistency constantly pay off.

"And anyway, that's all you can do, right? Just try your best and see where you land?"

Shelby hummed her agreement. "Do or do not. There is no try."

"Is this your way of telling me you're open to the Star Wars casting call on that list Rachel sent over?"

"Absolutely not," She crumpled up the piece of paper and tossed it his way. "That's not what I came here for."

"Okay, okay," Marty conceded, catching it without hesitation, shooting it in the bin, and then walking back over to his desk chair to get back to business. "Then, come on, tell me please why you came all the way to visit me in New York during a school week cause I know it's not for acting work."

Rachel was trying. But no matter how much her mother, her fathers, her therapist, her family, her friends, her… everybody kept insisting that she could, she struggled to do it. To talk.

But she figured that when years from now, an accomplished author will write their new book praising her incomparable talent, they would simply need to title the chapter concerning the weeks leading up to her freshman year Regionals run "Conversations," because Rachel genuinely couldn't remember the last time she talked this much about her feelings.

First with her mother. Accidentally with Jesse. And then with the New Directions the afternoon following the unfortunate Vocal Adrenaline psych out.

Immediately after the car park confrontation with Jesse, she returned to the choir room dutifully and prepared to face her punishment in the town square. But Mr. Schuester, having taken stock of the situation, decided to corral the team back into the auditorium instead and turned the rehearsal time into group sharing. In order to clear the sickly atmosphere, he set up a circle of chairs in the middle of the stage and forced them to face one another and talk.

It was, quite literally, Rachel's tenth circle of hell. She would've much rather faced the ire of her peers directly than talk through her feelings with one William Schuester. It was already bad enough that they were going to lose even more rehearsal time, when they should've been focused on Regionals preparation. The lack of discipline was almost comical to her at this point.

At first, they all refused to participate in his disastrous plan and only after Puck finally let out his collected anger at them for shooting down his idea of slashing the tires of their rival team's Range Rovers, did all hell erupt.

Above the cacophony of complaints, Rachel found herself confessing how bad it felt to be invariably misunderstood for taking show choir far more seriously than the rest of the team, at which they all reacted with snickering and snorting.

"It's true," she had told them then. "Look, you're all very talented. I should know. I'm very talented too. But we have to start taking things more seriously if we're going to prove to everybody else, nay – the world, that our Sectionals win wasn't a fluke and that we have the championship mettle to come out on top. Winning is the most important thing in our culture today, and if there is one thing I've learned, it's that nobody's just going to hand it to you. We have to try harder."

"Right, Rachel," Mr. Schue interrupted her quickly. "We understand where you're coming from," he gave the teenager a meaningful look. "And we are sorry if you feel that you're the only one who cares. But I promise that's not true. I agree with what you are saying... Well, I might have put it differently, but the gist is the same… I think all of us can feel that we're building something special here, right? And I care because there is still the threat of Figgins taking that away if we don't win Regionals. So, for the sake of this team, we have to stop fighting with each other, we should try to focus on giving the New Directions another year. What do you all think?"

Not really satisfied, Rachel slunk back in her seat and played with the hem of her skirt out of habit. It wasn't just in her head that she had essentially been carrying the weight of the team on her back. And it seemed like a lost cause at this point. Her mother had been focused for months. Prepared for months. Disciplined for months. Surely, even if they kicked it into high gear now, they still wouldn't be able to catch up and compete. She felt more and more discouraged, and Mr. Schue's words didn't improve her mood at all.

The rest of the team shrugged in response and Mercedes groaned in frustration.

"We can't beat them," she complained, referring to Vocal Adrenaline. "You didn't see their performance of 'Another One Bites the Dust, Mr. Schue.' They are unstoppable. The choreography was on point. You could never – respectfully."

Those words brought back Jesse's triumphant look when he stood on the stage of their auditorium just an hour ago. And his pained expression later when he spoke about the loyalty he felt toward his own team – so much so that he felt comfortable enough to jeopardize their relationship to impress them. He wanted to belong, and he wanted to win so badly he was willing to do whatever it took — even if she, herself, was in the direct line of fire. She shook her head, unwilling to go there yet.

She could tell that Jesse looked torn, and she could even genuinely understand where he was coming from. Because that's how much she cared, too, about all of it. But she still couldn't help feeling so wholeheartedly mad at him. For lying to her, for avoiding her, for the funk, for everything that happened that day. She still couldn't believe that everything went so horribly wrong in such a short period of time.

And she knew they needed to talk about it. Despite the carefully constructed Chinese fire wall she and her mom had erected; they had somehow forgotten to account for a potential, very large Jesse-sized crack.

"Ugh, this is so annoying," Quinn nodded her head, interrupting Rachel's visible inner battle. "We don't really have the time anymore, or the possibilities, or the resources to compete with Vocal Adrenaline. Coach Corcoran is… insane. Okay?" She dropped her voice at the last part. "I live next door to the Corcoran's – Shelby's parents, right? And her dad usually helps with the set design for VA… and you absolutely didn't hear it from me, but I woke up in the middle of the night a couple days ago and saw literal smoke coming from the garage where Shelby's dad works. Smoke, y'all, which means fire. Pyrotechnics. For their set. And who knows what else? Ugh. We're doomed, for sure."

Mercedes' and Quinn's words stirred Rachel's growing agitation. She shuffled abruptly in her seat and caused the metal of the chair to screech against the stage floor, and the entire team instantly whipped their attention over to her.

"Well, perhaps this is precisely their point," Rachel offered when their gazes seemed to have intensified. "Maybe we've all just fallen right into their traps. That's what they came here to do, right? Psych us out. We've all been funked, just like every other team before us."

"What?" Artie questioned, surprised, but also with poorly hidden suspicion in his tone. "You knew it would happen?"

"No," came Rachel's immediate and aggravated response. "I truly don't know what else I have to do or say to prove to you all that I'm not in cahoots with my mother. There is no conspiracy here. But you're the one stalking those show choir forums, right Artie? Everybody knows about VA's unofficial tradition of funkifying the competition. It isn't some state secret."

She just always thought that her Shelby, Jesse, would spare them the courtesy.

"And you thought that just because your mom is the coach that we would be the exception?"

"No. I didn't. I hoped. And this all just happened, so I don't even know if my mom actually had anything to do with it. I haven't talked to her. She's out of town this week. And anyway, she's pretty much obsessed with following the rules, so I really don't think she ordered them to do this or anything."

"Agreed," Quinn offered. "I doubt it."

"And I thought Jesse would be smarter than that," she added as an afterthought.

She thought back to Jesse's smirk after he took his final pose during their performance and the blinding confidence that radiated from him and his peers around him with such ease. As irritated as she was, a large part of her also respected it. They had earned it — the right to be that confident, to carry that much swag —because they cared that much, because they put in that much effort.

But still, it seemed unnecessary for Jesse to have barged in here and picked a fight, especially well aware of the already precarious position she was currently in with her own team. All it demonstrated to her was that she was less important than this stupid competition trophy.

If he could mess with her, she could only make sure he regretted his decision to start a war with her. Yet she didn't even feel that satisfied with getting back at him personally, so she would take what was so important for him. Regionals. Soon, she would rejoice in seeing his stupid expression when she and her team snatch that trophy straight from his hands.

But first, she had to regain her teammates' trust.

Despite her wavering faith in their ability to rally, she couldn't just leave McKinley and the New Directions behind; even if their future was unclear past Regionals – should they survive them. She refused to move again. To have everything change again. And no matter what may happen in the future, she would still have to go to this school, pass them in the hallways, and sit next to them in classes. They were the only people who had grown to treat her like well, herself, over the last few months. Regionals would make them accept her again.

With this thought, Rachel faced her teammates once again.

"Alright, screw VA," she growled. Everyone exchanged frowning expressions. "Quinn is right about the lack of time; we have less than five weeks and it's already too late to redo everything or start from scratch. But we can, and we will, beat them in Regionals literally even if my life depends on it."

Santana snorted. Quinn stayed silent. Artie and Tina shook their heads, unconvinced. Puck and Finn avoided eye contact with her. And only Kurt nodded his head in agreement.

"Look, I know what I'm talking about," she added, registering the group's disbelief. "Everybody keeps coming for me for being Shelby Corcoran's daughter and being Jesse St. James' friend. But I need you all here to also understand that I met you all first. You became my team first. You had my back first. And besides, it seems that not all of you realize what it even means that I have these connections."

Rachel stood up from her seat and folded her arms bravely directly across her chest. Her teammates around her began to show hints of careful hope. Quinn exchanged glances with Mr. Schue, who had unsurprisingly lost control of the entire situation, but was now hanging on to the edge of his seat at the stirring speech.

"I don't know what Vocal Adrenaline is going to do at Regionals. I have no idea what their set list is going to be, or what their staging is going to be, or how they're going to look, or what they're going to do. But — I do know my mom. I definitely know Jesse. And the one thing that I know for certain is that they're only successful because my mom plays to the strengths of her team. The dynamics of Vocal Adrenaline revolves around their lead. If anything happens to the star, the whole team collapses. Know the star's limitations, and you will know the entire team's weak point. And if there is anyone who knows how to make him lose, it's me. I'm here telling you that Vocal Adrenaline has a weakness."

She looked around defiantly. Her anger at the way Jesse treated her overwhelmed her senses. Jesse started this. And surely, he had to have assumed that she wouldn't take any of it lying down. She would give her team the necessary ammunition. Knowing their enemies was their only chance.

"Okay…" Puck raised an eyebrow. "Cool. I'm all in for whatever you want to do for Regionals. You want to practice more? Whatever, let's do it. Let's get battle tested. But does this mean then that we can't go to Carmel and beat up that punk?"

"They trashed our rehearsal space, Rach." Finn added. "That's disrespect that we can't leave unanswered. We have to get them back. We need to at least prank them back or something."

She nodded but was reluctant to add fuel to the fire. Sure, she wanted a payback, but not for Jesse to end up in a hospital or for property to be destroyed. "I know, but I really think the best form of revenge at this point is to just get them back at Regionals. Because I get it, we can't compete with their resources. But we do have something that I know they sincerely lack."

"And what is that?" Kurt interrupted her speech this time.

"We have hearts," she said, continuing over the chuckles she elicited. "No, seriously. Like sure, they're masters of precision and details, but if we just really try and really apply ourselves. I know we can win over the judges with our heart and—"

"Okay. Not to disrupt yet another long ass monologue you're about to embark on," Santana threw in. "But that is bullshit. I'm seriously depressed now, and the only thing that would make me feel better is if they felt the same way that we do right now."

The rest of the team agreed with her immediately and Rachel winced involuntarily. She wanted to help them and they still doubted her. She took a deep breath to calm herself, thinking. Maybe winning Regionals wouldn't be enough. Maybe they need to strike back – demonstrate their own strength, hold their own. Maybe they needed to funk Vocal Adrenaline as hard as they funked them.

"This… stinks," Quinn stated, capturing everybody's current mood. "Like, seriously. Funk. What a stupid, idiotic concept."

After catching Rachel shrink further in her seat, seemingly transported elsewhere now, Mr. Schue finally stood up from his own chair and inserted himself into the conversation, finally ending his failed group therapy experiment.

"Alright, that's enough," he decided. "Rachel, thank you for sharing how you feel. Puck, no, there will be no retaliation on VA. And come on guys, Rachel's right. We just gotta rise above. The best way to get back at them is to beat them at their own game. Let's just get back to work and do just that."

"Explain yourself."

Jesse pulled up abruptly, a sinking feeling tightening in his stomach. Vocal Adrenaline's de facto leadership team – Giselle, Andrea, Clint, and Shosandra – were all arranged together in a tight cluster to one side of the designated practice room for VA seniors, and he eyed them warily.

"Why were you late to school today?" Giselle stepped forward first, inching closer toward him. "Al said you took the morning off. Why?"

"Fuck off," Jesse said, though he doubted she would. The members of Vocal Adrenaline were not known for their tact. Like their coach, they thrived on drama. When it didn't enter their lives naturally, they often created it amongst each other.

"Was it to help your little girlfriend with the New Direction's psychotic prank this morning?"

Jesse felt his show face automatically snap into place. He scowled inwardly, careful to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Inside, he was furious at the accusation. Because it was uncalled for. Everything he did — the funkification he wanted no part of especially — he did for them.

"Look, Jess. We're all happy with the way you've stepped up this week," Andrea cut in, coming to stand next to Giselle, but her snappy, displeased voice said otherwise. "But we've worked too hard to let you throw it all away for what? A… freshman from the rival team? What's the deal? Are you dating or something? Did Coach C ask you to keep tabs on her, like what's up?"

Jesse straightened his spine and braced himself for the upcoming confrontation. If it was a fight they wanted, they'd get it. He wasn't going to give in easily to the false indictment — he did nothing wrong here.

"Dude, come on," Clint broke in. "How did that even happen this morning? Did you give Rachel the keys or something? You know Coach isn't going to be happy about this. We have to sort this out before she gets back or else we're all in for it."

"I'm not even going to answer that."

"She's playing you," Giselle's dry interruption sounded more bored than anything else.

"Or, we just think that until Regionals is over, we can't risk the possibility that she is," As if trying to make up for Giselle's snide comment, Andrea's voice was gentler — almost conciliatory.

"We've all worked too hard," Clint added, with the vague impatience of someone trying to explain a math problem.

Jesse waited for them to finish saying their piece. Ironically, it was Shelby who also taught him never to interrupt, no matter how wrong or pigheaded the other person was being. First you let them talk, then you proved them wrong. He tightened his mouth slightly, wondering just how to do that this time. Nothing he said about Rachel would sway them — he knew that much. He had to find another tactic.

"Okay, look," he said finally. "Rachel and I are not dating. Stop insinuating that we are. She's Coach C's daughter. I'm not going to cross those boundaries. I didn't help her pull what they did this morning. I was just at home — taking a break for once. And I don't… this is ridiculous. I don't know why you're riding me so hard here. I did everything you asked for yesterday, didn't I? Haven't I always put this team first above all else? I've been breaking my back the entire year to prove myself to you guys especially. I'm not just going to throw away everything we've accomplished. You need to trust me. We're going to win it all again this year and next, and we won't lose everything because of Rachel Berry."

However, appealing to their compassionate sides, apparently wasn't the best tactic. Giselle only tightened her folded arms. "If you don't figure out a way to fix this, you're out."

Jesse felt his show face falter and his jaw slacken slightly. Were they serious? "You can't do that."

"No," Shosandra said, speaking up for the first time, "But they embarrassed us, Jesse. We're the reigning National Champions. What do you think everybody will say when they find out what they did to us this morning?"

"Everyone is replaceable," Giselle said coldly. "Even you."

That was the breaking point. Jesse stared at the four people he'd considered some of his closest friends. Apart from Shelby, these were the people who had helped shape him, who taught him everything he knew, who set him up to take over the dynasty they've painstakingly built together. The five of them had been in this from the start. They were Shelby's chosen ones. The fact that it was these four who were now questioning his loyalty and threatening to take away everything he had worked so hard for was deeply wounding.

"How could you even threaten that?" He whispered. The show face was gone, buth he couldn't find the necessary anger to bring it back. They were asking him to make a choice he didn't think he could make. It was a choice he shouldn't have to make. He's done everything right so far. Everything. He couldn't understand why it still wasn't enough.

Giselle walked toward him again and stopped just inches away from his face. "We're a team, and you said that you would always put Vocal Adrenaline first. Now is that still true, or not?"

Was it? Was that truly all he wanted still? He searched their faces, and he knew what they were implying. He already knew what they wanted him to say. To do.

And then he decided — he wasn't giving up. No matter what it cost him, he was going to see this through. Vocal Adrenaline was the best part of his day and the highlight of his world, but realistically it wasn't his life. Soon enough he would move on, leaving high school behind, and with-it Vocal Adrenaline. His true passion was the stage, and though this was a nice substitute while he waited for her big break, it wasn't his only chance to shine. He didn't want to lose it, but he wasn't going to kill himself to meet their expectations. Right? He'd put in the work. He'd been disciplined. For the past three years, he had always put this team first.

"Fine, look," he said, firming his show face and drawing his shoulders back slightly, standing as tall and square as he possibly could. "It's clear nothing I can say will change your mind here. So let's try this — can you just take a second to meet her? Properly at least?"

"Not interested," Giselle said, turning around and walking back to the wall, as if only to accentuate the distance between them.

"Unlike you," Andrea added, "We're not keen on fraternizing with the enemy."

"Just meet her," Jesse repeated. He knew they were going to take some convincing and he was ready for the fight. This was too important to let slide. "Admit it — aren't you even a little curious about Rachel Berry? Coach Corcoran's daughter that you're all so afraid of?"

"We're not afraid of her," Giselle replied blandly.

Jesse felt the corners of his mouth curving into a small, satisfied smile even though he was trying to maintain a poker face.

Clint snorted. "Jesse, this is a waste of our time. You know what we want you to do. You know how we take care of teams that step out of line. You know what we do to the leaders of those teams to put them back in place. You should know better than anyone that we have a reputation to maintain in the show choir community. We cannot let this slide."

"So, if you're not afraid of her, then why are you insisting that we retaliate back?" Jesse knew he was taunting them now, but he didn't terribly care about their reasons as long as they agreed. He felt sure that once they met the force of nature that was Rachel Berry, they would understand that she wasn't a real threat to them. They would see themselves in her. They would empathize and get that she was just like them. They had to.

"We're meeting with Coach C after she gets back from New York to let her know who we think should be the Senior Captain next year — officially. Whether or not we tell her that it should be you is entirely up to you," said Andrea.

"I can't believe you're forcing me to do this," Jesse stared hard at his rigid teammates.

"They didn't learn their lesson," Clint's aloof tone was also a dismissal. "Aren't you pissed at all about what happened?"

Jesse fought the urge to bite his lip. They were playing hardball, and he didn't know if he would be able to salvage this game.

"Just once," he said, staring hard at each member of Vocal Adrenaline in turn. "Just once I'd like to not have to bend over backwards just to prove myself to this team. I work harder than all of you combined."

"That's not what's in question," Giselle said, remaining stoic. "Clint is right. You know what you have to do — you need to cut Rachel down now before she thinks she can just walk around and do whatever she wants to you and to this team. You'll be in for a very difficult year next year if you don't handle this now, Jesse. What has Coach C always taught us? That we need to be proactive. You need to be proactive. Defense wins championships."

"For the record, I am not happy about this," Jesse said, conceding but understanding fully what was expected of him. Giselle had a point. If he was going to pick up the mantle and lead this team next year, he couldn't afford to appear weak now. Everything was on the line. He had to consider what they were saying.

"Fine," he said moments later. "I'll handle it."

"Hey! We said no phones," Marty scolded after placing the two gin and tonics he had just picked up at the bar down on the table. "We're having lunch. We're playing hooky. No working right now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Shelby laughed, dropping her cell phone straight back down into her purse without getting a chance to properly look at it. She pulled one of the glasses closer to her instead. "I just haven't taken time off in forever. And there's just so much going on back at school. And with Rachel."

"I know," he nodded in understanding as he settled into the seat across from the woman at the upscale restaurant adjacent to his office building. "But it's okay, I promise the show choir world will not implode if you take the day off."

"Famous last words," Shelby replied, but obliged. She raised her glass and took a generous sip of her cocktail, humming briefly in contentment and allowing herself to finally relax after a long morning of Manhattan meetings.

"Thank you, by the way, for all of your help with that. I had been wracking my brain for weeks. I think it's a really promising solution."

"Yeah, of course," Marty brushed it off. "It's a win-win for everybody involved. Thank you for bringing it up to me. My clients are going to be thrilled for the opportunity, honestly."

"You're really impressive, you know that?"

"Me?" Marty scoffed, running his free hand along the length of his tie, shaking his head in disagreement. "There's only one Tony-winning actor sitting at this table right now."

"Stop. Like I always tell Rachel, I haven't been that Shelby in a very long time."

"No," he agreed. "You're like a cat though. You've lived like nine lives. Can't believe you're in your nationally renowned show choir coach era right now. Who would've thought. What are you going to do next?"

"Honestly?"

"Always."

"I just want to be Rachel's mom. That's it."

"Aw, I love that."

It was true. No matter how many times her teenager insisted on meddling in her career, she wouldn't trade her career now for anything New York or Marty had to offer. She would never voluntarily sign up now for anything that may possibly take her away from her daughter and the life that they were building together at this point. Her main, and only, priority now was getting Rachel to understand and trust that.

"Shel?" Marty asked seconds later after he caught the woman's attention drifting elsewhere.

"Yeah?"

"You really want to check your phone right now, don't you?"

The woman finally cracked. "I really do," she chuckled. "I'm so sorry. I haven't looked at my Carmel email all morning, so just want to make sure my students are sorted. And it's almost lunchtime there too, and sometimes Rach checks in with me."

"Go on," Marty permitted. "But that just means you owe me another drink."

"We can even do two," Shelby promised.

She reached back into her purse to grab her phone and began to review the most recent notifications — regretting it almost instantaneously.

First, there was the email she had missed at 9AM CT from Dustin that was sent to every member of Vocal Adrenaline.

"Team – Please refrain from entering and using the choir room this morning until we figure out where it all came from. Maintenance is on their way to help clean. And we will let you all know as soon as possible when the space is ready again to use. Thank you."

- Coach Goolsby"

Then, there was the unusual text from Hiram at 10AM CT:

"Just got a notification from the credit card company – Rachel went over her limit and charged $120 to her debit card at the grocery store this morning? Any idea what for?"

And there was a missed call soon after from the father at 10:45AM CT.

With an even curiouser follow-up text message at 10:50AM CT:

"Called the grocery store and they said she came in this morning and bought their entire stock of almost-expired cheeses? What's going on?"

After that was the voicemail from her boss, the Carmel principal, at 11:30AM CT she was too perturbed at this point to listen to.

Followed up by another concerned text message from Hiram at 12:00PM CT:

"Hey so Rach isn't texting me back about this. What do you think this is? Should I contact her therapist?"

And then the final email at 12:15 PM CT from Dustin notifying the team of the change in rehearsal space for the afternoon.

"Team – Good news, the cheeses have been disposed of. Although the choir room has been finally cleaned up, the unfortunate stench has lingered, so please plan to meet in the auditorium instead immediately after the final bell. Upperclassmen are dismissed for the afternoon. Freshmen and sophomores, please be prepared for your lyric checks.

-Coach Goolsby"

"Okay, what's going on?" Marty couldn't help but question after watching a wide range of emotions filter through Shelby's expressive face in quick succession. "Did the show choir world implode after all?"

But, Shelby already had her phone up to her ear and waited four long rings for her daughter to pick up.

"You… cheesed… my choir room, Rachel! Barbra! Berry?!"

"Mom, they funked us first!"

A/N: Hi friends, sorry for going AWOL – have been preoccupied the last seven months listening to Idina's "Material Girl" on repeat and watching her slide down her son's tree house (IYKYK).

And apologies cause I know this was a bit of a hodgepodge chapter, but I promise it'll all come together for those reading through! Thanks for coming back for another one :) will (hopefully) be back soon with the final installment of the R vs. JsJ showdown!