A few minutes later, Beyoncé came from backstage to where we were sitting. “I’m hungry,” she announced, my seven-year-old coming back to earth and what mattered. “Okay,” I whispered, pulling her to sit on my lap. “We can get something after, but we gotta stay ’til it’s over.” “I just wanna get my trophy and go home and eat,” she said. I answered, “You don’t know if you won.” Beyoncé turned to face me, and raised one eyebrow in that way she still does. I shook my head like “watch yourself.” But she was right. She won.
