Beyoncé

It was during a late-night rehearsal when Beyoncé first really saw her. Rae was lost in the music, hair whipping in a halo of sweat and motion, limbs sharp then fluid—like her body was born knowing how to move in time with every beat. The rest of the dancers blurred into one another in Beyoncé’s peripheral vision, but Rae? Rae burned. Like a flame she couldn’t look away from. She didn’t speak much, Rae. Not unless spoken to, not unless her laughter—bright and unfiltered—bubbled out of her in stolen moments backstage. She was the youngest of the crew by far, all of twenty-two, wide-eyed and hungry for every second of this wild world. Beyoncé watched her sometimes and remembered what it felt like to want everything so badly your skin could hardly hold it.