Saturday, March 10th, 12:42pm – Convention Center Auditorium

"I need a drink," Blaine murmured as he slid into the seat next to Finn, letting the back of his head fall back until he was staring at the ceiling. "An adult beverage. Very adult." All of the dancers who'd performed morning routines were packed on stage as the M.C. tossed t-shirts and glowing toys at them, the music blaring through the speakers.

In the dim light of the auditorium, Finn's forehead wrinkled in confused concern. "What happened? It's been, like, almost two hours." He hadn't seen Blaine since he'd left to do that girl's hair and makeup only receiving a series of text messages directing him what to do with the girls after they'd performed and where to sit for the awards ceremony.

Blaine couldn't hold back the low growl that rumbled through his chest. "Sashi's dad showed up in our dressing room and basically accused me of running off with her so I could do something inappropriate," Blaine grumbled quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of any of the spectators sitting around them. "Everett shows up about that time, so I told the guy he could take his kid and leave because I needed to help my own kid get ready and I'd be in and around that dressing room all day if he needed to find me because now, after dropping off his kid and leaving her so he could park his car, now he was concerned because Maya had asked me to fix his kids hair and makeup so she was ready to perform. Because that's what it means when they tell you your kid needs to walk in 'performance ready'."

Blaine rolled his head on the seat back so he could look at Finn. "I swear to all that is holy if you repeat this, I will deny it and they will never find your body – but I think I channeled my inner Kurt at his diva best for a couple of minutes."

Finn snickered quietly.

Sighing, Blaine sat up a bit higher in his seat, glancing at the stage, attempting to find his kids in the mix. "Then, in what has got to be one of the most bizarrely messed up things I've ever dealt with – he turns around and asks me … to finish … his kid's hair and makeup. Three minutes before he's acting like I'm a child molester, but when the reality sinks in that he has no idea how to put fake eyelashes on his six year old – I'm his best friend?"

Reaching over, Blaine stole a program from Finn's hand and flipped through it until he found the first routine their studio performed that morning. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a highlighter and pen and sat up completely.

"So did you?"

Dragging the highlighter across the names of the routines he wanted to keep track of, Blaine shook his head. "I lifted Sashi up from the counter, handed her to him, and carefully shut the door. In his face. Ev needed to change and I certainly wasn't going to have him strip down in front of them. Maya's probably gonna be pissed, but I don't care. Someone else can fix his kid. I'm not the only parent here who knows how to glue on eyelashes."

Having hyped the dancers up for the past ten minutes, buying the judges some time to finish scoring the last few routines, the M.C. managed to settle them back down fairly quickly, having them sit down on the stage, and then scooting around to create walkways so the awards could be distributed. That done, he faced out to the audience, and called out, "Dancers, let's thank the people who've been sitting down while you've been dancing so hard!"

As the words sunk in, Blaine visibly flinched, muttering, "Sitting down. Right. 'Cause they just magically appear in costume, makeup and hair."

Nudging Blaine's arm with his elbow, Finn held up his program. "So how's this work?"

Turning in his seat, Blaine dropped an arm on the back of Finn's chair, and leaned forward. "This is gonna take a while. First," Blaine explained, "each competition has a slightly different way of doing things – so nothing I say here necessarily applies anywhere else. Here, there are three levels of competition – Red, White and Blue. Red's the beginning dancers just starting to get experience. White's the middle level and Blue's for the highly competitive dance teams. It's supposed to be based on how many hours a week the dancers have class – but the studios make the call where the lines get placed. Our kids will be in the White and Blue levels.

Finn nodded his understanding. "Okay."

Propping his head in his hand, Blaine considered what to explain next. "Within each level – the red, the white, the blue - the dancers are divided into age groups. For example, six years old and under, seven to nine year olds, ten to twelve, thirteen to fifteen, sixteen to eighteen. With me so far?"

Getting confirmation that Finn was still understanding all this, Blaine continued. "The age is the average age of all the dancers in the routine – so in some of the big numbers, you'll see an age of, say, twelve, even though there are clearly much older and much younger dancers.

"Is that why Kurt and Rachel sometimes talk about the kids' competition age?"

"Exactly. Their competition age is the age they are on January 1st of any given year. That's the age that gets averaged to determine what age group the routine will compete in," replied Blaine. "Now here's where it gets complicated. For each one of those age ranges for each level: red, white or blue, you'll see different sizes of groups per dance style. Red, ten to twelve year old jazz, might have jazz solos, jazz duets, jazz trios, jazz small groups, jazz large groups, jazz super groups, and jazz production – which, clearly is based on the number of dancers in a routine. And at every competition there are jazz lines, tap lines, lyrical lines, contemporary lines, hip hop lines. Frequently, but not always, you'll see ballet, pointe, acrobatics, ethnic and open styles as well.

Finn's eyes grew larger and larger as Blaine's explanation continued.

"Head spinning yet?"

"Definitely. Okay, there are three divisions. Red, white and blue." Finn spoke slowly, eyes closed as he tried very hard to figure this all out. "Each one of those divisions is divided into age ranges – and then the dancers perform different types of dance, which are further divided up by the number of dancers in the dance."

"Exactly." The announcer began handing out awards, and Blaine's pen flew across the page as he took shorthand notes . "Last thing. You'll hear them giving each routine a medal placement– elite double platinum, double platinum, platinum, high gold, gold, high silver or silver. Kinda like the Olympics except the kids aren't necessarily competing against each other. A lot of times you'll have three or four routines all earn the same medal, because the routine has earned enough points to qualify for that medal.

Groaning, Finn rubbed his temples. "Dude, you're, like, saying words, but …"

Blaine gave his brother-in-law an understanding smile and patted his knee sympathetically. "Oh, and there are special judges awards too. Best costume. Sweetest smile," Blaine continued knowing exactly how Finn was feeling right now. Kurt had given him much the same indoctrination four years ago when he'd come to watch Everett perform for the first time.

"And how long does all this awarding stuff take?" Finn asked.

Blaine flipped through the program before looking back at Finn. "Looks like they've blocked out an hour … which probably means an hour and a half. As soon as they're done, we'll grab the kids, take them upstairs to eat something and change."

Incredulous, Finn stared at Blaine. "Ninety minutes? How the hell can it take that long?"

Snickering, Blaine didn't bother to look up from the program where he was still writing down the placements. "The last routine that performed was 153. We have 153 routines to announce their medal placement, then by age group they'll announce the top five or top ten … and remember that's by division. Then the special judges awards. And there'll be pictures too."

Finn let out a deep sigh. "This sucks, Anderson."

"C'mon, Hudson. We'll be walking in the door to my house in about … eight hours. Then we can have a beer. Or four. Make that your focus."

Huffing, Finn crossed his arms and tried to pay attention to the man on stage. "We're ordering pizza on the way home. Rachel and Kurt are buying."

"Oh definitely. Most definitely."