Then she got in the car, put her headphones on, and pressed play on a new beat.

Beyoncé looked at the sky. No stars. Just the orange haze of Houston light pollution.

Years later, in a sweaty rehearsal studio, that same girl would be a teenager. The group was called Girls Tyme, then something else, then finally Destiny's Child . The record deals fell through. Managers lied. Other groups got signed instead.

A young girl in the front row, Kelly, dropped her doll. Another girl, LaTavia, felt a chill run up her spine. They didn't know it yet, but in that moment, the hierarchy of their generation was being established.

Her mother, Tina, had spent the afternoon ironing the hem of her glittering white dress. Her father, Mathew, was sitting in the back pew, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He had bet a fellow sound engineer fifty dollars that his daughter would bring the house down. He never lost bets.