The behavior of the Flynn sisters and their friends suggests that young people will assume responsibility for themselves and each other when they learn that they cannot rely on the adults in their lives. In fact, they will even assume responsibility for these adults, stepping into a parent-like role themselves to keep their houses and families functioning. In some cases, their choices prove disastrous, but the novel ultimately vindicates the girls themselves as highly capable, resilient, and resourceful in the absence of parental authority, even as it critiques the systemic failures that push its adolescent characters to this point.

Initially, the novel frames the Flynn sisters as a cautionary tale about the poor choices teens make when left to their own devices. Louise, for example, is so desperate to be noticed by someone that she strikes up an online relationship with a man who grooms her to commit an act of terrorism. Abigail, meanwhile, drinks vodka before going to school, gets into relationships with older men, and is heavily implied to be struggling with an eating disorder. Even Harper, for all her intelligence, seems prone to foolish decisions: Bored with her schoolwork, she simply stops going to class and earns a suspension as a result.

Without denying the recklessness of these actions, the novel complicates its portrayal of adolescent agency by showing the various ways in which the young characters learn to rely on each other and look out for one another when they cannot rely on adults. When Louise feels that she lacks an identity, she doesn’t bother going to one of her self-involved parents; instead, she seeks help from Abigail, who tells her to pick something from the activities board at school. Abigail routinely checks on her sisters when she gets home late, something her parents don’t do. Tibet’s call to Harper and Louise when Abigail is in danger indicates that she, too, understands the limitations of these adults, and the fact that Harper and Louise immediately involve Wes rather than Bud or Catherine suggests something similar. After discovering the trafficking operation at Alabaster Manor, the girls themselves affirm their faith in one another: “‘I knew it,’ Harper said to herself. ‘What did you know?’ asked Louise. ‘I don’t know,’ said Harper. ‘I just knew.’ Louise nodded. ‘I believe you,’ she said” (259). Not only is 12-year-old Harper astute enough to have suspected the reality, but 15-year-old Louise recognizes that her sister is intelligent and capable.

The teens also assume responsibility for their parents, an ironic role reversal that highlights their ability and their parents’ helplessness. Checking on her father in the minivan one night, Abigail thinks, “He look[s] so weak, so helpless” and reflects that she “[doesn’t] like seeing her father this way” (54). Harper goes beyond simply recognizing her parents’ limitations; when she begins to grow concerned about Bud’s mental state, she goes immediately to the church in an effort to get him some help. Harper also finds the “consistent inconsistencies” that Bud overlooks for years. Ultimately, the point is not so much that the girls are entirely adept at problem-solving, identifying danger, and protecting others, but rather that they are doing the best they can; that their best is better than any of the so-called authority figures in their lives is itself a damning indictment.