For weeks Charlie had been singing the same song over and over again.
“Dinah won’t you blow…”
He sang it twenty-four hours a day, with the same vacant, cheerful tone.
”Dinah won’t you blow your hor-or-orn?”
He kept the beat with his head, endlessly banging it against the hallways bulkhead.
“Dinah won’t you blow…”
Johnnie-O, who had very little patience to begin with, would have pulled out his hair, were it possible for an Afterlight’s hair to come out.
“Dinah won’t you blow…”
Johnnie squeezed his oversized hands into fists, wishing there was something he could bust, but having spent many years trying to break things, he knew more than anyone that Everlost stuff didn’t break, unless breakage was its purpose.
“Dinah won’t you blow your horn!”
“Dammit, will you shut your hole or I swear I’m gonna pound you into next Tuesday and then throw you out of the stinkin’ window where you and your song can drown and sink down to the center of earth for all I care, so you better shut your hole right now!”
Charlie looked at him for a moment, eyes wide, considering it. Then he said, ”Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah!”
Johnnie groaned.

Neal Shusterman