Growing up in San Francisco is weird. It’s even weirder when it’s the 1980s, you're a teenage girl, and the foggy cliffs of Sea Cliff are basically your entire world. That’s the vibe We Run the Tides nails so perfectly. Most coming-of-age novels feel like they’re trying too hard to be "important." They use big, sweeping metaphors for puberty. Not this one. Vendela Vida wrote a book that feels like a fever dream you actually had back in middle school. It’s gritty. It’s salt-sprayed. Honestly, it’s a bit mean.
If you haven’t read it yet, or if you’re just circling back to figure out why that ending still bugs you, here’s the thing: We Run the Tides isn't really a mystery. People market it like a "missing girl" thriller. It’s not. It’s a dissection of how girls use power before they even know what power is. It’s about Eulabee and Maria Fabiola, two best friends who rule their private school ecosystem until one lie changes everything.
The Sea Cliff Setting is a Character (No, Really)
San Francisco in 1984 or 1985 wasn't the tech hub it is now. It was grubbier. The Sea Cliff neighborhood, where the story is set, is this strange pocket of extreme wealth perched on crumbling rocks.
Vida, who actually grew up there, doesn't romanticize it. She describes the "spritz" of the ocean air that ruins everyone’s hair and the way the fog acts like a physical barrier between these girls and the rest of reality. Eulabee and her friends—Maria Fabiola, Julia, and Alice—walk these streets with a sense of total ownership. They know which houses have the best views and which bushes are the best for hiding.
The ocean is always there. It’s loud. It’s dangerous. It represents the transition from the safety of childhood to the "tides" of adulthood that are about to pull them under. When Maria Fabiola claims she saw a man exposing himself in a white car, that's where the cracks start. Eulabee says it didn't happen. The others say it did. Suddenly, the geography of their friendship shifts.
Why Maria Fabiola is the Villain We Love to Hate
We all knew a Maria Fabiola.
She’s beautiful, she’s wealthy, and she has this terrifying ability to make people believe her reality. In We Run the Tides, she represents the "it girl" trope taken to a logical, dark extreme. She doesn't just want attention; she wants to control the narrative of the entire neighborhood.
- She disappears.
- The whole city goes into a panic.
- The school holds vigils.
- Eulabee is cast out because she dared to question the original lie.
The genius of Vida’s writing is that she makes you feel Eulabee’s isolation. It’s visceral. You’re 13 again, and your best friend has turned the entire world against you. It’s not just a plot point; it’s a psychological horror show. Maria Fabiola's "disappearance" is the ultimate power move. She proves that she can make herself the center of the universe whenever she wants. It’s manipulative. It’s brilliant. It’s also incredibly sad because you realize she’s just a kid who doesn't know how to exist without a spotlight.
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The Nuance of Teenage Perceptions
The book does something really smart with memory.
Eulabee is our narrator, but she’s looking back from a distance. She knows she was right about the man in the car, but she also recognizes how her own stubbornness isolated her. The conflict isn't about the truth; it's about loyalty. In the world of teenage girls, "truth" is often less important than "whose side are you on?"
If you’ve ever been a teenage girl, you know that feeling. The "tides" are the social currents. You either swim with them or you get smashed against the rocks. Eulabee chooses the rocks. It’s a brave choice, but it costs her everything.
The Third Act Shift No One Saw Coming
A lot of readers get frustrated with the end of We Run the Tides.
The book jumps forward in time. Suddenly, we aren't in the 80s anymore. We’re in the present day (or close to it), and the girls are grown up. Some people think this ruins the pacing. I’d argue it’s the most honest part of the book.
Life doesn't stay in that high-tension 13-year-old state forever. The "big mystery" of Maria Fabiola’s disappearance is resolved, but it’s almost an afterthought. The real resolution is seeing how these childhood dynamics ripple out into adulthood. You realize that the power Maria Fabiola had was fleeting. The fog eventually lifts.
The ending reminds us that the things we thought were world-ending at fourteen—the betrayals, the lies, the social status—are just stories we tell ourselves later. But those stories still have teeth.
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What Most Reviews Get Wrong
Most critics focus on the "mystery" element. They call it a thriller.
If you go into We Run the Tides expecting Gone Girl, you’re going to be disappointed. This is a literary character study. It’s about the specific language of female friendship. It’s about the way girls talk to each other, the way they compete, and the way they eventually outgrow one another.
The "mystery" is just a vehicle to explore the power dynamics. The real story is the internal life of Eulabee. She’s observant, cynical, and deeply lonely. She’s the person standing on the edge of the circle, watching everyone else dance.
Actionable Insights for Readers and Writers
If you’re a fan of the book or looking to write something similar, there are a few key takeaways from how Vendela Vida handled this narrative.
1. Ground your setting in sensory detail. Don't just say it’s San Francisco. Talk about the smell of the eucalyptus, the specific dampness of the fog, and the sound of the foghorns. Make the reader feel like they’re breathing the same air as the characters.
2. Don't be afraid of an unlikable protagonist. Eulabee isn't always "nice." She’s judgmental. She’s stubborn. But she’s real. Readers connect with authenticity more than they connect with "likability."
3. Use the "Small World" technique. Keep the focus tight. In We Run the Tides, the world feels huge to the girls, even though they’re mostly just moving between school and their homes. By keeping the scope small, the stakes feel much higher.
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4. Subvert expectations. Vida sets up a missing person trope and then refuses to play by the rules. She makes the "return" more interesting than the "disappearance."
The Final Verdict on the Tides
So, does it hold up?
Absolutely. We Run the Tides is one of those rare books that captures a very specific time and place without feeling like a nostalgia trip. It’s not about leg warmers and neon; it’s about the timeless, terrifying experience of becoming a woman in a world that wants to tell you who you are before you’ve figured it out yourself.
It’s a quick read, but it lingers. You’ll find yourself thinking about the cliffs of Sea Cliff and the lies you told when you were thirteen. You’ll remember the friends you thought you’d know forever and the ones you’re glad you left behind.
If you’re looking for your next read, pick this one up for the atmosphere, stay for the biting social commentary, and don't expect a neat bow at the end. Life isn't neat, and neither is this book.
To get the most out of the experience, try to find a physical copy. There's something about the cover art and the tactile feel of the pages that fits the "analog" 80s vibe perfectly. Once you finish, look up some old photos of San Francisco’s Lands End from the 80s. It puts the whole "cliffside" danger into a terrifying new perspective. Afterward, you might want to look into Vendela Vida’s other work, like The Lovers or Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name, which deal with similar themes of identity and displacement.