Chapter 89

The Interview

Buffy came home to find her mother standing at the end of the stairwell, biting anxiously on a square of chocolate, her eyebrows quirked in a stern way. Buffy closed the door behind her and smirked.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. You know Mr. Schue. All slay all the time," she laughed.

Joyce glanced in the direction of the living room and Buffy heard a man clear his throat. She twirled around to see Will sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his hands clasped together, his expression an authentic high-school-teacher blend of concern and disappointment.

"Buffy, you lied to us. And you made us your alibis. That's playing us against each other and that's not fair," Joyce shook her head as Will stood and joined them in the foyer.

"I called Tina," said Will, "You also lied to her about where you were. We were all worried sick."

Buffy wrung her hands together as Joyce offered her watcher a square of her candy bar. "Look, I'm sorry, you guys, I just… had stuff to do."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "Were you at the Bronze? What was so important that you had to lie to us?"

"Just, I'm sorry, okay?" Buffy stammered, "Can we just forget about it?"

"No, we cannot just forget about it," Joyce frowned, "You're acting very immaturely, Buffy."

Will grimaced. "Listen, Buffy, I know I'm not your parent, but-"

"No, you're not my parent," Buffy huffed at her watcher, "And yet you felt the need to tattle to mommy?"

"Buffy!" Joyce gasped.

"I'm still responsible for you, Buffy," Will said, sternly clenching his jaw, "And I agree with your mother. You're being childish."

Buffy almost laughed. "How else do you expect me to act when I'm being treated like a child? You're both scheduling me for twenty-four hours a day. That's too many hours! I just want to be able to make my own decisions!"

"Last time you made your own decisions, you ended up alone in Manhattan," Joyce challenged, still chewing distractedly on her chocolate.

"Yeah, and I took care of myself just fine. I don't need this much active parenting."

"You can't possibly be trying to use this summer as a reason you should be trusted."

"You can't babysit me all the time!" Buffy yelled.

"Come on, Buffy," Will sighed, "Chill out."

Buffy wrinkled her nose at her watcher. "Chill out?"

"I just think it's time everybody calmed down for the night. I think you should go to bed."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at the both of them before huffing and storming upstairs. Joyce jumped at the sound of her slamming bedroom door.

"She drives me crazy!" Joyce said under her breath, exasperated, "I just want to protect her."

"Most parents want that," said Will, taking a weary seat back on the couch.

"At least other parents have an idea of what they're protecting their children from," said Joyce, joining him.

Will nodded. "I guess we should both be extremely careful."

xxx

Mike tapped an anxious finger against his sweating glass of ice water. He had spent hours in football practise pushing himself to his limits, forcing him to take his mind off of useless things, like whether or not his father was having an affair, and then had gone home to shovel his mother's spaghetti and meatballs down his throat, barely tasting the marinera. His plate was practically licked clean as he watched his parents finish off their salads. He couldn't help but notice how his father frequently glanced at his cellphone, which was sitting potently beside his plate. Mike grabbed the bowl of salad and dished some onto his plate just so he'd have something to do.

"How was football pratice, honey?" asked Mrs. Chang.

Mike looked up as he speared some shredded radish with his fork. "Fine."

"I hope you're not spending too much time with the team. SATs are coming up very soon."

"I know."

"And you've signed up for SAT prep? You know that class can be really helpful. Right, dear?" she asked proddingly, her eyes trained on her husband.

Mr. Chang looked up from his salad, raising his eyebrows. "Definitely," he said, his face blank.

"Your scores have to be perfect if you want to go to Harvard," Mike's mother reminded him, making his stomach tense, "Right, Michael?"

Mr. Chang nodded. "Yes, that's right," he said, and reached for his phone.

Mrs. Chang pursed her lips. "Take a break for one second and help me clear the table," she sighed, exasperated, and stood up with her own emptied plate in her hand.

Mike stood from his chair, but his mother laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "It's okay, Mikey, finish your salad first."

Mike sat back down and watched his father leave the table with the salad bowl in his hands. Mike brought a forkful of baby spinach up to his mouth and paused when he noticed his father's cellphone still lying idly on the dining room table. He peered over his shoulder, listening to the soft clanking of silverware as his parents cleaned up. Mike looked back at the phone and reminded himself that it would be disrespectful to look through it. He had to do the right thing and let the chips fall where they may. He had to follow the rules of common courtesy. Oh, screw it.

Mike hastily grabbed his father's cell, keeping his ears peeled for either of his parents' approaching footsteps. The phone had a four-digit password. Mike scanned his brain and typed in his own name.

ACCESS DENIED

His father's birthday?

ACCESS DENIED

His own birthday?

ACCESS DENIED

Mike furrowed his brow and glanced at the china plates hanging on the southern wall of the dining room, edged in gold and inscripted with his parents' anniversary date: 08/93. His father had surprised his mother with the set just a few months ago. China for their twentieth anniversary. Mike dubiously typed in the four-digit date and exhaled when the phone opened up to its main menu. Mike leaned over and quickly found the call log. He wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar names that his father had received calls from. A few from him, a few from his mother, but an overwhelming number of them came from someone named 'Remington'.

xxx

Kurt twisted and turned in his sleep. He and Blaine had come back to the hotel room and crashed quickly on the bed opposite from the girls', falling asleep almost as soon as their heads hit their pillows, their trousers undone and half-heartedly tugged down in a drunken attempt to change into their pajamas. He'd never seen so many amazing, fruity cocktails in his life. He and Blaine had ordered too many to count - on Jesse - each with its own ridiculous name and extravagant garnish. Meanwhile, Quinn had nursed the same lemon martini all night while keeping a cautious eye on her girlfriend, who had quickly downed some Manhattans only to figure out that Cosmopolitans were right up her alley, exclaiming with an awed excitement that 'they taste like pink'.

What Kurt hadn't considered, when he fell asleep in the same room as his friends, was their dreams. Rachel had passed out, her mind totally blank, but the other two had active imaginations, sending Kurt back and forth through their subconscious. Blaine's dreams were easier to handle. Chasing full moons, fencing with Zorro, being pulled onstage by P!nk at Madison Square Garden. Quinn's dreams were more alarming. Setting whole graveyards on fire. Sticking her blond head in an oven a la Sylvia Plath. Rachel naked. And Kurt thought Finn's dreams were bad.

He found himself, for the first time, with the motivation to kick himself in his sleep and wake himself up. Her jerked in bed and squinted his eyes, finding the room completely illuminated in sunlight. He turned over to face the window and winced at the brightness. Apparently no-one had thought to close the curtains when they all fell asleep. He lifted himself up and glanced at Blaine, who was lying beside him with his jeans pulled down to his thighs and his hair thick and curly, all of his gell rubbed off on the silky pillow. Kurt looked over at the girls, tangled into each other on the other bed, Rachel's mouth wide open and snoring. He brought his hand to his pounding head and tried to identify the soft beeping that was like a bee sting through his temples. He looked at the alarm clock sitting at the nightstand and it's glowing red numbers.

"Oh my God!" he yelled, and the other three jerked awake, blinking in the sunlight, Rachel lapping her tongue against the roof of her mouth, grimacing at the stale taste of alcohol.

"Kurt," Quinn groaned, wiping sleep from her eyes.

"It's ten o'clock!" he screeched, leaping from the bed.

Rachel sat straight up, her eyes wide and rimmed with smudged mascara. "What?!"

"It's ten!" he yelled again, hastily pulling up his pants, "We're late! We're late for our interviews!"

"Oh my God," Rachel cried and jumped out from under the sheets, diving toward her suitcase for a clean outfit.

xxx

"I heard that there's a secret rule that if a teacher's more than ten minutes late, we're allowed to leave."

Tina had been staring at her script, memorizing the few lines she'd been granted in the school musical. She looked up when Kitty had broken the silence, standing with her hands on her hips at the edge of the auditorium's stage, the hem of her Cheerios mini-skirt barely reaching midthigh.

"You can go back to study hall if you want," she shrugged.

"I think I will go back to study hall," Sugar whined, "Why stay here and do absolutely nothing when I could go there and do absolutely nothing?"

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Why are you here, anyways?"

"I told you, I'm Quinn's understudy," she sneered, "I'm filling in for the day."

"You know, he didn't show up for sophomore Spanish, either," said Kitty, "Maybe he ditched for the day."

Buffy looked skeptical. "Mr. Schuester doesn't ditch anything. He's Mr. Honor Your Duty and Stick to Your Commitments."

Puck and Finn shared a laugh over the word 'duty' across the room. The whole cast of the musical, including the choir, were gathered in the auditorium for rehearsals. They were bored out of their minds, lounging in the front seats or pacing around the stage, waiting for Mr. Schuester to arrive. Since Buffy had caught sight of Sugar, she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid a conversation with Will about the Mottas. She knew they would have to formulate a plan to get rid of Al, or at least drive him out of town, but she couldn't stand anymore war room talk when she already had so much on her mind. She absentmindedly picked at a fingernail when Principal Figgins stormed in, looking annoyed.

"Children," he cleared his throat, "Your rehearsal is canceled."

"Mr. Schue didn't show up?" asked Buffy.

"No," Figgins rolled his eyes, "Pinhead didn't show up."

Buffy and Tina shared an uneasy look. "Is everything okay?" asked Tina, "Is Mr. Schuester okay?"

"I don't know," Figgins sighed, "All I know is that he isn't here. Hasn't been here all day."

"Are we supposed to go back to study hall?" asked Kitty.

Figgins rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Everybody thinks because I'm the principal, I'm supposed to know everything. It's not fair."

The principal kicked stubbornly at the floor before stalking out of the auditorium, mumbling to himself, leaving the theater kids gaping in his wake.

xxx

"Rachel Berry?"

Rachel winced at the sound of the receptionist's shrill call. She removed her massive Tory Burch sunglasses and peered into the reflective surface of her cellphone, wiping mascara residue out from under her eye. She and the others had rushed to pack their stuff and check out of the hotel room, stumbling to the nearest subway station and finding their way to NYADA's swanky hall. She stood from where she'd been seated in the waiting room. There were a dozen other bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, would-be performers, reciting sample answers from flash cards, tongue-twisters rolling out of their mouths like they were about to audition for a play.

"Mr. Richmond will see you now," the receptionist said, looking troubled as she laid eyes on Rachel and slid back behind her desk.

Rachel nodded politely and walked through the tall, polished wood doors of the admissions officer's office. Just last week she'd been disappointed to find out that she wouldn't be interviewing with Carmen Tibideaux herself, but now she was grateful that the Dean of Vocal Performance was nowhere in sight. The last thing Rachel wanted was for a renowned Broadway performer and opera singer to see her with an aching hangover.

"Ah, Ms. Berry," Mr. Richmond greeted her from behind his desk, looking up from a manila folder that she was half-sure contained her sign-up sheet for the interview and tour, "Have a seat. How are you today?"

Rachel padded forward and lowered herself into the seat, avoiding the rays of sun beaming through Mr. Richmond's wall-to-wall window. Truthfully, she'd never felt worse. A sickly feeling was rolling around in her stomach, a searing pain was throbbing through her temples and her tongue tasted like roadkill.

She smiled sweetly and said, "Very good. Thank you for having me."

"Of course," Mr. Richmond smiled kindly. He had silver hair and crow's feet, but everything else about him seemed youthful. "The sign-up sheet you sent in was quite comprehensive. You added much more information than we asked for."

"Sorry," Rachel smiled bashfully, trying not to wince from the bravado of his booming voice.

"Not at all. We were impressed and, if I'm being frank, amused by your enthusiasm. Enthusiasm is very good here at NYADA. So, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Rachel swallowed and tried to remember the pages and pages of bullet-pointed sample answers she'd printed and laminated for herself. She'd perfectly calculated everything she wanted to say. The first thing you should know about me is that I'm not afraid to put myself out there. I'm from a small town on Ohio and if I may speak with candor, there is not a lot of encouragement to excel. With that said, I've become class vice president, earned a pivotal role in the school's production of West Side Story and am captain of the show choir - which, by the way, is projected to win a top ten space in the National championships by the end of the year.

Rachel licked her lips, wary that Mr. Richmond was waiting patiently for her to answer. "What you should know about me… Well, the first thing, anyways…" she laughed nervously and then quickly brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a small burp that tasted like stale vodka, "Sorry! Hiccups!"

Mr. Richmond smiled sympathetically. "So, you're from Ohio?"

"Yes! And, if I'm being totally honest, the people of Ohio aren't really encouraged to… succeed."

Mr. Richmond raised a pale eyebrow. "Is that really how you feel? I happen to have quite a few successful friends who hail from Ohio-"

"Oh, no, no, of course there are successful people from Ohio. I just mean, where I come from, which is a small town, people tend to believe they're predestined for mediocrity."

"Couldn't you argue that that all depends on your definition of success? Perhaps for some people, the ultimate goal is the foster a nurturing family life or-"

"No, of course, that's not what I meant!" Rachel said, raising her hand to her temple. Her own voice was giving her a headache. She hoped she didn't sound like she was snapping at him. She was already embarrassed by how frequently she was interrupting.

Mr. Richmond leaned forward, looking concerned. "I just want to remind you, Ms. Berry, that this is a casual, informal interview. Your audition and application later on in the year are the most important components of your admittance. Right now, we just want to have a chance to get to know you and to answer your questions. Alright?"

Rachel nodded, rubbing her tongue against the walls of her cheeks in hopes of getting rid of the horrible taste in her mouth. "Yes, of course," she replied.

"Great. Now, it says here that you're interested in majoring in Vocal Performance with a minor in Theater Studies. How long have you been interested in theater?"

Rachel smiled, albeit bittersweetly. This was the prime question for which she'd been hoping. This was her opportunity to tell Mr. Richmond all about her years of involvement in community theater, her fathers' influences, her love for Barbra Streisand and her annual trips to Broadway. She leaned forward, feeling her stomach rolling and tightening. She tried to ignore it but when she opened her mouth to answer the question, she lurched forward, brown liquid and a few red remnants of maraschino cherries splattering from her throat and onto Mr. Richmond's desk.

xxx

Kurt darted through another one of NYADA's narrow corridors, past students carrying violin cases and doing vocal warm-ups. He wished he had time to meander chipperly through the near-historic school and imagine himself here next fall, but he was pathetically late for his interview and the room he was supposed to be in was all the way across the building from where Rachel was. He narrowed his eyes at the room numbers written on plastic plates on the doors and figured his room was only down the hall. He was just a few paces away when a lightning bolt of pain jolted through his head, even more searing than the dull ache he was already suffering from thanks to a variety of cocktails.

He leaned over, feeling his knees hit the floor as his vision went blank. He hated that he was doing this now, where anyone could walk past and see him. He tried to suppress it but the vision kept coming; and it was a clear one. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Playful, sinister smile. He put all the features together with heart-sinking certainty. The vision ended and he blinked the spots out of his eyes. He looked around himself at the empty corridor, a few students passing at the end of the T-shaped hall but paying him no mind. He raised himself from the ground, still clutching his dizzied head, when a woman stepped out of the room he was supposed to interview in. Wearing a slimming skirt suit, she locked the door behind her and walked down the hall toward Kurt.

"Ms. Kesler?" asked Kurt, smoothing down his floral-printed button-down.

The woman locked eyes with Kurt, her auburn hair in old Hollywood starlet waves. "May I help you?"

"Um, I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm supposed to be interviewing with you. I know I'm late…" he sighed, peering back at her disappointed expression.

"Yes, that's too bad, Mr. Hummel," Ms. Kesler frowned, "I was just about to take my lunch break."

"Is there anyway I can do the interview now, really quickly?" he asked, beginning to panic.

"I don't think so," Ms. Kesler simpered, "I have a fairly rigid schedule today. Perhaps you could schedule for a more formal interview in a couple months."

Kurt's mouth hung wide open, unable to speak. He couldn't believe he had come all the way to New York for this interview and didn't even make it.

"Oh, you dropped something," said Ms. Kesler, leaning down to pick up a small black piece of paper that had fallen on the floor, presumably when Kurt had collapsed into a vision. Ms. Kesler picked up the square and peered at it, her eyes widening. "Is this real? It is, I don't believe it!"

Kurt squinted at her and the square, until he realized it was Tiffany Greenwood's business card. He had wrangled one from Jesse in hopes of toting it around like a souvenir or possibly pasting it onto the collage above his bed with his glossy magazine photos of Audrey Hepburn and Marion Cotillard. He had asked Jesse why no-one questioned the authenticity of his business card and the boy had pointed out the silver-ish signature in the back corner. It was a hologram, just like the blue ribbon on the hundred dollar bill. That - Jesse had stated - was how much of a big deal Tiffany Greenwood was.

"You know, she's attended a bunch of NYADA's fundraiser dinners," said Ms. Kesler, handing Kurt the card back, "I always thought of how much traction she would bring to the school if she taught even one afternoon acting class. Can you imagine? You have friends in very high places, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt gave her back a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to admit that he'd never so much as been in the same room as Tiffany Greenwood. The most famous person he'd ever met was the fourth runner up of Miss Ohio the year she was a judge for their show choir Regionals.

"Hey," Ms. Kesler smiled coyly, "How would you like to go to lunch with me? My treat. I'd hate for you to miss the chance to talk to an admissions officer in person and I'd love to pick your brain."

Kurt bugged out his eyes at the woman. Friends in very high places, indeed.

xxx

Buffy and Tina trotted down the front steps of McKinley High side-by-side as classes finished for the day. They had reluctantly retreated to study hall after the news that their instructor was absent and spent the rest of the day perturbed by Will's disappearance and by the apathetic attitudes that their teachers exhibited for the rest of the day. They were all listless in their lessons and Tina told the glee clubbers that in World Geography, Mrs. Hagberg told them to take out a book and pretend to be working. They all seemed eager to goof off and get out of dodge. Their classmates were excited by the faculties' new demeanours, but Buffy knew enough to question everything. This was the Hellmouth. Something was up.

"Can you drop me off at Will's?" Buffy asked her friend as they walked through McKinley's parking lot, criss-crossing paths with their schoolmates, "I have a bad feeling. If he was sick, he would've told me. He would've at least called the school."

Tina nodded, looking equally concerned. Her father's faded VW bus was in their eyeline but as they walked toward it, Buffy heard footsteps fast approaching behind them. She whipped around on instinct to see Mike bounding their way. Tina followed her gaze, her eyes widening a little at the sight of Mike rushing toward her.

"Tina, hey," he panted, "I've been looking for you all day."

"You have?" asked Tina.

"We need to talk."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I'll wait by your car."

Tina nodded as her friend walked away toward the small bus and left her with Mike, standing near a teacher's empty Audi. "What's wrong?" she asked the tall boy.

Mike bit his bottom lip. "It's about my dad."

"Oh. Did you talk to him?"

"No… I went through his phone."

Tina raised her eyebrows with genuine surprise. "Mike-"

"I know. A total betrayal of trust and unethical behavior," Mike nodded, looking exhausted and guilty.

Tina smirked and shrugged. "I just wasn't aware you'd become such a detective."

Mike smiled bittersweetly back at her. "I looked at his call log."

"Yeah?" asked Tina, starting to feel troubled by what Mike could've possibly found on his father's cellphone.

"I don't know what I was thinking. That maybe I would find a bunch of calls to some bored, cheating housewife named Heather or Brandi," he snorted, shaking his head, "Or worse, calls to contacts with names like 'blond at bar' and 'single mom at market'. Like my dad is some womanizer having one-night-stands with every woman in town."

"That doesn't sound like your dad at all," Tina said reassuringly.

"I know," Mike sighed, running a hand over his hair.

"And it's not like he's gone more than usual. He's just on the phone a lot."

"I know. He's just so evasive lately. He was never a big affectionate quality-time dad but this feels different, like he's keeping a really big secret."

Tina grimaced. "What did you find?"

Mike sighed. "Almost all of the calls were to or from someone named 'Remington'."

Tina wrinkled her nose. "Do you know anyone named Remington?"

"No. Do you?"

Tina wracked her brain. "I don't think so. It sounds like the name of a butler from a bad mystery movie. Unless it's a last name. A co-worker, maybe?"

Mike shrugged. "Maybe. There were other calls, to my mom, or to his work friends. Quite a few to something called 'W' and 'H'."

Tina got an 'a-ha' look on her face and took out her cellphone, pulling up a search engine. "That sounds like it would be a company, right? Like, a corporation called W&H hired your father to work through some legal stuff for them?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, maybe Remington isn't a person. Maybe it's a company, working with a successful corporate lawyer like your dad. Remington Arms, maybe?" asked Tina, holding up her Google search on 'Remington' displayed on her phone.

Mike looked doubtful. "Then why all the secrecy? The one thing Dad loves to talk about is work. Why wouldn't he say anything if he landed some sort of legal consulting job with a big new company?"

Tina pursed her lips. "I don't know. I'll look into it. Remington and W&H, whatever they are."

Mike sighed with relief. "Thanks, Tina. I don't know what I'd do without you."

As Tina blushed under Mike's gaze, Buffy leaned against the hood of the bus, waiting patiently for her friend to join her. She turned her head when something darkened the corner of her eye and she saw Terri approaching her with a nervous smile on her face, picking at her fingernails.

"Buffy!" she smiled warmly, "How are you, girlfriend?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Fine…"

"So, have you seen Will lately?" Terri asked as she stopped in front of Buffy, dropping her hip and casually twirling her blond hair in her fingertips as if they were gossiping at their lockers, "I'm just asking because I noticed he wasn't in school today."

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know where he is. He's not answering his phone. I was just about to go to his apartment."

"Oh, right, cool," Terri nodded casually, and rifled through her pocket for a pack of cinnamon gum, "Want one?

"No, thanks," Buffy smiled, glancing at Tina, wondering how long she would be.

Terri tossed a piece of gum in her mouth. "So, like, how's he been lately?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "...Fine."

"Is he, you know…?" Terri started to giggle, looking embarrassed, "Is he seeing anyone?"

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"Just, I never see him talking to other girls, but you never know… He could be dating someone older. Or someone out of town. But, whatever, y'know."

Buffy nodded, staring at the back of Tina's head. "Yeah, Terri, I don't really think Will is seeing anyone. I think it's going to be a while before he starts dating again."

"Right," Terri nodded, "Because of Ms. Pillsbury… God, that is so sad. Poor baby. He probably needs a shoulder to cry on…"

Buffy exhaled when she saw Tina turn away from Mike and walked toward them. She bid Terri farewell and boarded the Chang's bus. Tina drove downtown toward Will's apartment, telling Buffy about Mike's dilemma with his father all the way there. She dropped Buffy off at the apartment complex and headed off to the suburbs to tutor a freshman for an hour. The slayer was surprised at how quickly and nonchalantly her watcher had buzzed her up, sounding light and airy on the other side of the intercom. When she headed upstairs to his apartment, she found him rifling through his CD collection his couch, wearing jeans and a 'Frankie Says Relax' t-shirt.

"Hey, Buffy," he smiled charmingly at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, her backpack hanging from one of her shoulders. "Sorry, I just thought… you didn't show up to work today and after you gave me that I'm-just-disappointed face for ditching patrol I figured…" Buffy's face fell when she noticed Joyce sitting pretty on the armchair, one leg tucked under her lap, chomping on chocolate, "Mom, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Mr. Schuester and I decided to have a talk. About you," Joyce smiled.

"About me?" Buffy asked worriedly.

Joyce nodded. "We thought you had a pretty good point earlier."

"You did?" asked Buffy, "And what point was that?"

"That we're babysitting you."

"We decided to work out a better schedule," said Will, "So you won't feel like you're being pulled in different directions. A perfect, tight balance between your home life and your slayer duties. Oh, The B-52's! These guys are great!"

Will plucked a bright yellow CD from the collection and ran toward the CD player on his coffee table.

Buffy frowned as Joyce rummaged through her purse. "We're going to be a little longer, honey. You take the car. Will can give me a ride home."

Buffy widened her eyes at the keychain Joyce had produced as Will started to play a song that sounded like it belonged in a knock-off James Bond movie. "What?" she exclaimed, almost panicked as her mother handed her the keys.

"Take them," Joyce coaxed her.

Buffy smirked. "You don't have to tell me twice. Well, actually, you did, but… Bye!"

Buffy snatched the keychain out of her mother's hand and darted to the door. Sometimes it was better not to question things. Even on the Hellmouth.

Next up: Lima's adults are under a spell and the scoobies return from their trip in New York...