Shiloh straddled the hammock, her bare feet dangling just above the sand, and let out a frustrated groan, balling up her fists on her knees and folding forward.
“Shiloh,” Ivy said patiently, “just, just, just do something else. Stop dwelling on it. You could gather more mulberries, or help Swan organize that bag of bullets the gleaners traded us. Or practice your hoops.”
She looked up with a sour expression, her bangs hanging in her face. “Are any of those things going to fuck me later?” she asked.
“It was a rhetorical question.” She flopped onto her back and kicked her legs, starting the hammock swinging.