The Girls Who Grew Big

“A pool made you feel invincible, but an ocean did the opposite. It reminded you what a fragile thing you were, how every cell that made you up was nothing in comparison to the waves that could take you down as quickly as a bullet shot through your softest skin.”

Upon seeing the ocean for the first time, Adela contrasts it with the swimming pools that defined her highly controlled former life as a competitive swimmer. The author employs the motif of water to create a metaphor for Adela’s loss of agency. In this moment, the predictable “invincibility” of the pool is replaced by the ocean’s sheer power, which mirrors the transformative effect of her pregnancy on her entire life. This juxtaposition highlights Adela’s newfound awareness of her own physical and emotional vulnerability in the face of forces that she cannot control.

“But I was different. I knew I could do it. While the Girls wasted their days and nights dancing or doing nothing that wasn’t for those kids, I was gonna live a big life. If I was being honest, I was just smarter than the rest of them.”

After the other teen mothers mock her plans for college, Emory reflects on her ambitions in this passage of internal monologue. Her assertion reveals a core character conflict: her need for the community of the Girls versus her belief that she is superior destined for a life beyond them. This sense of exceptionalism fuels Emory’s determination and complicates her relationships, creating tension as her confidence clashes with the immense obstacles presented by her circumstances.

“I know you prob’ly see me as just another black girl gone off the rails, but really, I reacted with the sour spit of any woman who was tired of being scrutinized like a pit bull lured into a fight.”

In the moments before she physically attacks Adela for criticizing her, Simone’s narration directly addresses the reader, reframing her impending violence in more nuanced terms. The author uses a simile comparing Simone to a “pit bull lured into a fight” to shift the narrative from one of unprovoked aggression to a logical reaction against relentless judgment. This authorial choice directly confronts the readers’ potential biases.

“‘So you’ve never…been with nobody?’

I looked into my lap, where his hand was rested heavy, so close to my stomach. I knew I should tell him the truth, but I wanted him to think I was special. Pure. Untouched.

‘Never,’ I said.”

During her first date with Chris, Adela deliberately lies about her sexual history in order to conceal her pregnancy. The author creates a moment of dramatic irony, juxtaposing the physical reality of her pregnancy—symbolized by Chris’s hand resting near her stomach—with the lie that she tells. This decision marks a turning point for Adela’s character, revealing the depth of her shame and her willingness to use deception to escape the consequences of her “situation.”

“If I was a lizard and this whole world thought I was prey, then I would be the type of lizard who was smart enough to swallow my eggs and keep ‘em tucked into the pouch of my stomach before I ever let somebody come and crush ‘em.”

Following a confrontation that cost her a new friendship with Adela, Emory uses an animal metaphor to frame her resilience. She identifies with a creature deemed “prey” to articulate her feeling of being targeted by the world. The image of swallowing her own eggs suggests that she would rather internalize and protect what is precious to her than risk its destruction by external forces.

“And in that one moment, my brother’s tears promised he would stay by me, to find a way to know me and the children that came from me, and I promised to forgive him for those months he didn’t know how to love me ‘cause I knew what it was to be our parents’ child, to want them to think angel of us.”

In a flashback, Simone reflects on the moment when her estranged brother, Jayden, first held her infant twins. The quote pinpoints their reconciliation in a shared, unspoken understanding of their traumatic upbringing (“I knew what it was to be our parents’ child”). This moment of forgiveness illustrates that fractured biological ties can be mended through empathy and shared experience, establishing a new foundation for their relationship.

“All the nausea coursing through me had meant nothing until now, when it became evidence of my body constructing not only that little thing that would probably become a baby but my body creating this other small thing that had channeled me and the spasms of my body into keeping something alive.”

During her first sonogram, Adela’s perception of her pregnancy shifts as she finally understands this tangible, biological reality. The narrator’s focus on her involuntary “spasms” emphasizes the motif of the female body, grounding Adela’s experience in the raw, physical processes of the pregnancy and distracting her from the social implications that currently plague her. This internal monologue marks a turning point in her character arc as she begins to see her body as a life-creating force and catches a glimpse of the transformative power of motherhood.

“Motherhood was a constant supply of adrenaline, a goddamn phenomenon of logic, I thought, as I felt the wheels skid. […] for Luck and Lion, I lived in the promise I’d made the moment I’d birthed them: to pull a world that was good to them from the depths of its horrors. I owed them the impossible.”

While driving through a hurricane to reach a clinic, Simone’s internal monologue defines her maternal identity. The external chaos of the storm mirrors her internal state, creating a narrative force that underscores the intensity of her struggle. Simone’s characterization is crystallized in her belief that she “owed [the twins] the impossible,” and her determination reveals that her version of motherhood is a relentless, almost mythic fight for her children’s survival against impossible odds.

“This is what I felt, lying in Adela’s bed, released from years of what could’ve become us. Awed I’d made it to daylight resting like a warm hand on my face, drowsy and uncertain of everything but this moment, this morning air, these purring bodies I got to call mine asleep on my chest.”

In the immediate aftermath of her self-induced miscarriage, Simone reflects on her life with a complex mixture of relief, exhaustion, and certainty. The author uses sensory details—the “warm hand” of daylight and the “purring bodies” of her living children—to ground the moment in physical and emotional sensation. This experience of being “released” confirms that her choice has allowed her to preserve her present life and family, and she feels nothing but certainty and a quiet affirmation of her own agency.

“Here’s the thing about killer whales: contrary to popular belief, they won’t kill you and they’re not even whales. That’s what happens to someone when the world decides something about you, grabs hold and morphs you into an illusion of yourself: suddenly even your name isn’t your own.”

In this moment of internal monologue, Emory observes a beached orca and establishes a metaphorical connection between the misnamed animal and her own experience of being wrongly judged by her community. The author uses this scene to explore the theme of Reconnecting with the Healing Power of the Land and the sea. The direct address to the reader (“Here’s the thing…”) creates an intimate, didactic tone, framing the orca as a symbol of Emory’s own misunderstood identity.

“Loneliness is a young mother’s shadowed hand, clutched to the gut and pulling even as she laughs with her babies, even as she bites off newborn fingernails and rubs lotion under the folds of an infant’s neck, it always has a hold.”

Following her self-induced miscarriage, Simone reflects on the isolation inherent in her role. The author employs personification, describing loneliness as a “shadowed hand” in order to imply that this abstract emotion has a near-sentient presence in Simone’s life. This image contrasts the nurturing, life-affirming acts of motherhood with an undercurrent of solitude, complicating the transformative power of motherhood by acknowledging its personal cost.

“[Y]ou gotta understand how men gonna disappoint you. All of ‘em. Every time. But you know who’s not gonna disappoint you? Your mama. Or, in your case, Adela, your noni.”

As Noni comforts a distraught Adela, she offers a piece of cynical, intergenerational wisdom rooted in her own painful past. Her direct, declarative statement (“All of ‘em. Every time.”) establishes a starkly gendered worldview that serves as both a warning and a source of matrilineal strength. This moment of dialogue reinforces the supportive role of family by highlighting the reliability of female bonds in contrast to the perceived failures of men. The discussion also foreshadows the eventual collapse of Adela’s relationship with Chris.

“And then one quick pounding of rain turned to a tumult of sound and Mrs. Harris beamed. ‘Looks like you’ve got twins!’”

In a flashback to her visit to a crisis pregnancy center at age 15, Simone recalls the moment when she learned she would have twins. The auditory imagery shifts from a “pounding of rain” to a “tumult of sound,” conveying the overwhelming shock and chaos of the revelation through the metaphor of a storm. This sensory detail is juxtaposed with Mrs. Harris’s beaming expression, exposing the manipulative nature of the center, which presents life-altering news as a blessing while denying Simone any form of reproductive agency.

“[N]ow I knew there was no going back, even if I wanted to. I was this child’s mother and even though he’d never be as safe as the moment before he exited my body, I’d swim thousands of miles just for a chance to see his face clear and not swollen from sobs.”

After witnessing Adela’s betrayal and Luck’s traumatic injury, Emory has a moment of realization about her own life purpose. The author uses hyperbole—“I’d swim thousands of miles”—to illustrate the newly selfless nature of her maternal devotion. This interior monologue marks a shift in her character arc, as she consciously redefines her identity around protecting her son, embodying the theme of the transformative power of motherhood in the face of personal heartbreak.

“I knew I did the one thing I wasn’t never supposed to do: showed my panic. […] I was the kind of mother who forgot to hide her frenzy in a fold under her left breast. I erupted, I shrieked, I terrified my own daughter until I felt her hand go limp in mine […] And then my baby had to watch her momma go, nurses wrestling me out the door, so the last thing she saw of me was fear that would become her own.”

Following Luck’s traumatic head injury, a distraught Simone is forcibly removed from her daughter’s hospital room. The metaphor of hiding frenzy “in a fold under her left breast” illustrates the societal expectation for mothers, particularly marginalized ones, to suppress their fear and pain. Simone’s self-condemnation reveals her internalization of this pressure and her fear that her own trauma will be inherited by her children, a central conflict in her understanding of motherhood.

“You know, Emory, I always knew it’d come to this. […] No, you’ve always been so progressive, sweetheart, always doing the new hip thing, marrying a boy like that, having a baby that looks just like him. You always liked the monkeys at the zoo, remember? Just loved ‘em. Ha! Look at you now.”

During a confrontation, Emory’s grandfather, Pawpaw, reveals the true depths of his racism. The dialogue employs heavily coded language (“progressive,” “a boy like that”) which escalates into a dehumanizing comparison linking Jayden and Kai to “monkeys at the zoo.” The raw explosion of his malice suggests that he has long suppressed this racist tirade and was only waiting for an excuse to let it loose. Pawpaw’s use of the sarcastic endearment “sweetheart” emphasizes the cruelty of his tirade, demonstrating that harsh judgment can also manifest as an intimate, familial betrayal.

“Full of soggy shame, a belly that would not submerge beneath the water and instead stuck out like a buoy. I tried splashing warm water over the dome of skin, over and over, but a moment later the water would slide off, leaving it dry and gasping for warm relief. A sliver of me that could not retain heat, that could not be hidden or cleaned, and would remain, for as long as I could see, impenetrable and cold.”

After being rejected by the Girls, Adela sits alone in a bathtub, literally and figuratively wallowing in her shame.  The simile comparing her pregnant belly to a “buoy” symbolizes her exposed isolation, while the personification of her skin “gasping for warm relief” conveys her distress. The final image of an “impenetrable and cold” part of herself reflects her alienation from the community and her own body.

“I like to think of sand like love. The thing that’s true ‘bout both of ‘em is you only ever see them for what they look like when they’re right in front of you. And isn’t that sorta reckless? To only believe the thing in front of your face, not knowing nothing about where it came from.”

Simone’s reflection introduces an extended metaphor that connects the physical geography of Padua Beach to her emotional maturation. By questioning the “reckless” act of accepting love at face value, she displays the full extent of her emotional growth, moving beyond the superficial to seek a deeper understanding of the world and people’s emotions. This internal monologue recasts the novel’s coastal setting as a source of wisdom and a parallel to the characters’ inner lives.

“Padua Beach shouldn’t even exist. We’re not on no map, nobody knows ‘bout us but us, and every time folks pass by, they snicker at the way we live, the way we talk, the way we eat, but we keep us alive. […] We don’t need you to be like us, but at least understand we’re not tryna be like you neither.”

Driving Adela home, Simone delivers a monologue that functions articulates the importance of reconnecting with the healing power of the land and of the Girls’ rural Florida heritage. The defiant declaration that “we keep us alive” portrays Padua Beach as a site of resilience. The parallel structure lists the ways the community is judged—“the way we live, the way we talk, the way we eat”—and highlights a distinct cultural identity that Simone claims with pride, challenging Adela’s external perspective.

“‘Can’t nothing go away till you stare it in the face’—Noni pointed to herself in the mirror—‘so you eat the sand and somewhere inside you, it’ll make itself known and you’ll reckon with what’s been done and be able to do somethin’ different when you shit it out.’”

This quote occurs during a key conversation between Adela and her grandmother. Noni introduces the central metaphor of “eating the sand,” which represents the act of confronting and internalizing one’s history, trauma, and identity. This advice proves to be the ideal catalyst for Adela’s decision to keep her baby.

“The shack was in the middle of thick woods, adorned in dirt and lanterns, large amps releasing a raucous beat into the night, dozens of folks rubbing up on each other on the dance floor, girls grazing in the sweet soft napes of other girls, men twirling each other till they dizzied, all kinds of bodies moving wild, letting their sleeves flutter and fall, letting themselves dance.”

Simone describes the hidden LGBTQ+ bar where the Girls have taken Emory for a surprise bachelorette party. The imagery presents the bar as a space of uninhibited freedom that starkly contrasts with the judgmental society of Padua Beach. The author’s diction—“raucous,” “wild,” “dizzied”—emphasizes the women’s collective, joyful release from social constraints. This setting provides Emory with a glimpse of a life where her identity is not a source of shame, and although she resists at first, this experience helps her to break off her ill-considered engagement to Jayden.

“Right there past the school and the highway and the beach, the sea glistened, and I could’ve sworn, way in the distance beyond me, an orca soared from the water, flashed its black-and-white body, and disappeared again under the glittering turquoise, as if emerging just to watch me, on this day, transcend myself.”

At her high school graduation, Emory has a moment of self-realization in which the imagined sighting of the orca is recontextualized as a symbol of her own power, freedom, and transcendence. The imagery of the creature “soaring” from the water mirrors Emory’s internal feeling of rising above the limitations and judgments that Padua Beach has placed upon her. This moment culminates in her full acceptance of her own potential even as she reconciles with the transformative power of motherhood, framing her journey as a source of strength.

“Joints don’t always stay the same. When you was as pregnant as Adela was, as we all had been, your joints started to loosen, move, stretch, and suddenly your lower back ached and you kept rolling your ankles. Maybe the joints would all tighten back up again or maybe you’d forever feel that gnawing in your hips, a spasm in your pelvis, from all those joints you relied on to not hurt making way for new life to exit and altering everything about you in the process.”

As Simone announces her decision to leave Padua Beach, she uses an extended metaphor to compare the Girls’ found family to the joints in a pregnant body. This physiological imagery illustrates the idea that their bond, like a body preparing for birth, can loosen and stretch to accommodate change and distance without breaking. This craft choice connects the abstract concept of their relationship to the concrete, physical experiences of motherhood, arguing for a vision of family that is fluid and adaptable.