Blaine's seven years old and already he knows that he will have a career in music. His parents are very proud of him. Blaine's asked to provide entertainment at family parties. It makes the Andersons look good. Blaine likes to please his parents, but more importantly, the music soothes him. He plays the violin like the second coming of Salieri and his piano teacher is already recommending another, more prestigious one - "He needs a better teacher and Mr. Lee is the best." Cooper always leans against the wall and narrows his eyes after another one of Blaine's impromptu concerts, but he's still a good brother, at least on the outside. He indulgently ruffled Blaine's head at age four after their first run at a Duran Duran number and tells him, "Squirt, you're pretty good. Well, not as good or as handsome as me, but you're pretty good."

His mother watches her two boys dance and sing, three years later, and realizes that Blaine needs dance lessons, too. Because, while Blaine is terrified of telling his parents he won't be a lawyer or a doctor or a captain of industry, he doesn't know that his mother already recognizes his gift.

So, on one Saturday afternoon, she doesn't tell his father where she's taking Cooper and Blaine. Cooper is dropped off at a friend's house to play video games. Cooper doesn't complain. Blaine cramps his style, the little adorable mofo. After Cooper runs into Nick's house, Blaine's mother opens the back door and puts Blaine up to ride shotgun.

"Where are we going, Mom?" as he buckles himself carefully in.

She smiles at him fondly. "Somewhere that I think you really want to go. Just... don't tell your father we were here."

It's a silent ride to the dance studio, but once they're there, it's packed with parents and little kids. It's almost eleven o'clock in the morning, almost lunchtime, so it's loud. Some of the kids are hungry and they're not afraid to let everyone know. Blaine grabs his mother's hand tight, eyes wide as saucers.

The introduction to jazz dance recital looks like it's a mixed class. The teacher, a middle-aged woman in a black leotard, calls for quiet, and they begin. It's sort of bad, in that the whole routine is not very polished. Eagle-eyed parents sit on the sidelines, babies in laps, or video cameras in hand, or both.

Blaine and his mother are standing next to another couple. She pushes Blaine up to the front so he can see. The couple look related to the adorable little Chinese girl in the middle of the pack. Her mother is smiling and nodding and bobbing a little. Her father's smiling too, and taking pictures.

Blaine wishes his father was like that.

Off to the left of the dance floor is a Chinese boy in a cute gray fedora, a plaid shirt - untucked - and black jeans. He's Blaine's age, maybe a little older. They must be all a family, but Blaine doesn't know why the boy is separated from his parents.

The boy stands out. He's dancing jazz, too. It's the exact same choreography as the kids are doing on the dance floor. But it's precise, clean, graceful. The boy makes it look so easy and he puts them all to shame. He moves like Michael Jackson. Blaine looks around and realizes that half the video cameras in the room aren't always trained on the dancers out on the floor. They're cutting back and forth between the floor and the boy dancing his heart out on the sidelines. He dances like Blaine sings. He's seeing a little slice of the boy's soul.

The girl on the floor looks at her brother and gets a peeved look on her pretty face, but she doesn't stop.

Later, over coffee (or juice), the boy approaches Blaine.

Blaine's let go of his mother's hand and she's actually talking to the dance teacher, so she's only got her mind half on where Blaine is at the moment. Over on the other side of the room, the boy's family are all talking to other parents and the little girl is with them, grinning broadly and curtseying like a little doll. It reminds Blaine of The Nutcracker, except it's not the boy's sister he imagines dancing that ballet.

"Hey!" says the boy. "I saw you watching the recital. Did you have fun? There's not a lot of boys our age here."

Blaine suddenly remembers his manners. "Oh! Yeah... yeah. You're really good. You remind me of dancers on music videos." He wipes his little hand on his khakis and offers it to the boy in a handshake. His dad's voice sounds in his head: Always give everyone a good first impression, Blaine, because you don't know when you might need it later. "I'm Blaine."

The boy heartily returns the handshake. "I'm Mike. I'm here with my sister and her parents. It's her recital."

Blaine says, "You're actually really, really good. Do you take lessons here? I think I might..." His voice trails off. He doesn't know if this is going to work out and he'd hate to make a friend here and then not come back.

Mike shakes his head vigorously. "No. It's my sister they think should be dancing, and even then she probably won't actually be a grownup dancer. I'm supposed to be a doctor and she's supposed to be a pharmacist. Then we're supposed to set up a practice together. Or something." He shrugs. There's obvious wistfulness in his expression, and he scuffs his toes on the floor, which he's suddenly studying very intently.

Blaine wonders at that, because he just can't imagine this talented boy, who moves like a dream, being a doctor.

"I know," Blaine says sympathetically. "I think my parents want me to be a lawyer. But I can't tell them that I want to sing for people on a stage. Or maybe in a studio or on an album." He can't help but to sound excited here, because he knows that this is what he wants.

Mike plasters a friendly grin on his very nice face and looks up to meet Blaine. "Parents can be hard to talk to. I'll figure it out someday. But my sister will keep taking more lessons here until it's time to do the pharmacist stuff. But why are you here if you're going to be a lawyer?"

Blaine sighs. "Maybe my mom thinks it'd be okay if I took a few dance lessons? I think that's what it is."

"It's a little pricey here, but it's a nice place. They don't mind that I dance in the audience." Mike turns his body to the right and tilts his hat, holding the rim of it in long, elegant fingers, striking a pose.

"Blaine! Let's go, honey. I've got to go pick up your brother." His mom cuts through the sea of parents like a shark. Blaine's mom is so nice, but what she says, she means.

Mike turns back and tips his hat to Blaine's mom. She laughs at him. "I saw you. You were so good, honey."

"Thank you, ma'am. Uh... maybe I'll see you around?" Mike asks hopefully.

"Maybe," Blaine says. It would be nice to have a friend already here.

They shake on it again. "Here," Mike says suddenly, and pops the fedora off his head. "It's for you. So that you'll have to come back and give it back to me." He waves as they leave.

"That's a nice boy, Blaine," his mother says, as they walk out to the parking lot. "You might take some lessons here... would you like to?"

He nods.

But Blaine and his mother don't come back to that same dance studio. She finds a slightly cheaper place. That's the place where his dancing talents start to grow. But he keeps the fedora until he's thirteen, posing with it in front of the hallway mirror, until Blaine's father throws it out. That's the same day Blaine came out to his parents, so it hurts hurts hurts hurts to think about.

But he does remember Mike and Mike remembers him. So, their second meeting in a choir room at McKinley High School is a pleasant one. But you all knew about that.