Justine didn't understand. And for once, it wasn't just the language she was so confused by, this time. The entire night had baffled her entirely. Yes, she got the concept of the whole "prom" thing; dress up nice and dance with people who didn't talk to her and then go home. Nothing special. None of those people cared enough to dance with her. Not unless they expected her to live up to their slutty idea of a French girl. But this was just wrong.

 The town looked idyllic from the hills, in the last of the warm California sun. And yet, she still sat in the comfort of her brother's old jersey, waiting for her younger brother to join her with the ball. She'd promised that she'd help him train, so he could try out for the football team in his school. Apparently, the two games were similar, but she paid no attention to that. She'd been waiting for him to come running up the hill with the ball so they could play. He never came.

The explosion was something out of a film, something that couldn't be real. It shouldn't have been real. The rumble of the buildings crashing down without a care where they landed. Burning and crushing her home, her parents, her baby brother. She had been hysterical for a while, screaming and cursing and swearing. Begging for it not to be real as the ashes of what should have been her livelihood scattered. And then she knew. She had to call Michel, or Arnaud, to get them to come for her, to fix everything. So she'd followed the road out of town, trying to find a phone to use, with the few dollars in her pocket, all she had to do was find one. 

The others had came along in the van, but she'd fought him, screaming and crying for Mamé and Papé and Hugo. But then she had seen the others, sat in the van, looking numb, and conceded, being pushed in to the van quickly before they continued on, in to the night.

By the time they were let out, she was still sniffling, her brain starting to pick up some of what was being said. But the tone was what made her understand. They were all dead, the whole town, and now they had to run. The others around her, she recognised them, of course, but there were none who were really familiar. Nobody to talk to now she was alone in the world. She hadn't had her phone, so she shook her head when he got to her, and he moved on. 

Then, things were handed to one of the boys, and the man who had collected them, the strange little rag-tag team that they were, sped away in the van. Wiping her eye on her sleeve, she stepped back, trying to calm herself down, so that she could try to understand at least parts of what they were saying. So far, however, that wasn't working.