【日记】初中生快乐的课间日记600字：课间十分钟的悄悄话

走廊尽头的秘密交换

11月6日 星期四 阴

今天课间，方一舟在教室门口冲我勾了勾手指，说老地方。我们的老地方是走廊尽头那块地方，靠窗，暖气罩上铺着我妈给我缝的旧坐垫。那个角落平时没人走到底，是我们俩的据点。初一以来，我们所有的悄悄话都在那里完成，包括今天这次。

方一舟说，今天交换秘密，一人一个，不许反悔。我先说的。我把藏了两个星期的事告诉他了：上次数学小测我只考了六十四分，试卷没让家长签字，我夹在字典最后一页里。说出来之前我在肚子里排练了一整天，怕他笑话我。他听完没笑话，只是说：我早猜到了，你那天从办公室回来脸就是白的。然后他说了他的秘密：他爸妈下个月工作调动，他可能要去外地上学，他还没跟任何人说。那个角落安静了一会儿，窗外面在刮风，暖气片嗡嗡响。

我不知道该说什么。我只说了一句：去之前，你先把这儿的坐垫带走。他笑了，说想得美。上课铃就在这时候响了，我们从角落站起来，各自回各自的班。走廊一下子涌满人，谁也不知道这两分钟前这里说过什么。

其实交换秘密这个规矩也是去年在这个角落定下的。上学期期中考试前，他紧张得睡不着，我把我怕打雷到四十岁的糗事讲给他，他笑到肚子疼，说原来大人也怕。从那以后我们规定：谁心里沉，谁就约老地方，一人一个秘密，换着说。角落里的坐垫旧了，规矩一直没旧。

晚上写日记我才发现一件事：藏试卷那件事，我背了两个星期，像背一块砖；今天说出来，它变成半块了。原来秘密两个人分，一人只剩一半。方一舟把转学的事交给我，是信我。我不打算告诉任何人，包括我妈。这个角落继续替我们存着话。下一个课间，坐垫还是热的，秘密还是轮流的。铃会响，可是悄悄话不会断。

The Secret Exchange at the End of the Corridor

November 6, Thursday, overcast.

At break today, Fang Yizhou hooked his finger at me from the classroom door, meaning the usual place. Our usual place is the corner at the end of the corridor, by the window, with an old cushion my mother sewed for me laid over the heating cover. Nobody usually walks all the way to that end, so it is our two-person base. Since Grade Seven, all our whispered talks have happened there, including the one today.

Fang Yizhou said: today we exchange secrets, one each, no taking back. I went first. I told him the thing I had hidden for two weeks: on the last math quiz I scored only sixty-four, I did not get the signature of my parents on the paper, and I slipped it into the last page of my dictionary. All day I had rehearsed the sentence in my stomach, afraid he would laugh. He did not laugh. He only said: I guessed it early. That day when you came back from the staff room, your face was white. Then he told me his secret: his parents are changing jobs next month, he may have to move to another city for school, and he has not told anyone yet. The corner went quiet for a while. Outside the window the wind was blowing, and the radiator hummed.

I did not know what to say. I only said one line: before you go, take this cushion away with you. He laughed and said dream on. The class bell rang right then, and we stood up from the corner and walked back to our own classes. The corridor filled with people all at once, and nobody knew what had been said here two minutes ago.

The rule of exchanging secrets was also made at this corner last year. Before the midterm exam last term, he was so nervous he could not sleep, and I told him the embarrassing fact that I am still afraid of thunder at forty. He laughed until his stomach hurt, saying so even adults get scared. Since then our rule has been: whoever feels heavy inside calls the other to the usual place, one secret each, taking turns. The cushion in the corner has grown old, but the rule has not.

Only while writing this diary at night did I notice one thing. The hidden test paper had ridden on my back for two weeks like a brick. Today, after saying it out, it became half a brick. So a secret split between two people leaves only half in each. Fang Yizhou handed me the moving matter because he trusts me. I will not tell anyone, not even my mother. This corner will keep going on storing our words. Next break, the cushion will still be warm, and the secrets will still take turns. The bell will ring, but the whispers will not break.

今天我只负责听

11月7日 星期五 小雨

今天课间，宋苗苗没像往常一样来找我，一个人站在走廊拐角的消防柜旁边。那个角落窄，站两个人刚好，是我们以前背诗互相抽问的地方。我走过去，她眼泪已经下来了。

她断断续续地说，合唱队二次选拔她被刷了，老师说她音准不行，她练了两个星期，每天在家对着手机哼。她说着说着哭出声，说是不是很难听，问我实话说。换作以前，我肯定马上接：不难听，老师看走眼，下次还有机会。这些话我自己都会背。可今天我不知道为什么没说。我就站着，从口袋里摸出纸巾给她，她哭一阵说一句，我就嗯一声。我说得最多的一句是：然后呢。她讲了两遍从头到尾，从报名讲到被刷，从被刷讲到回家路上。走廊里人来人往，有人看我们，我把身子挡了挡，让她别被看见。

她哭完以后自己吸了吸鼻子，说：其实也没那么糟，就是憋得慌，憋一早上了。然后她问我下节是不是数学，我说是，她就去接水了，脚步跟平时一样。上课铃响的时候她已经坐在座位上翻书了，像没事人，可我知道不是没事，是没事里松了一点。

下午放学她在校门口等我，递给我一瓶橘子汽水，说谢谢我上午没跟她讲大道理，她前桌昨天跟她讲了半条街的道理，她更烦了。她说下个月合唱队还有补录，她打算再报一次。我说好，需要观众的话我报名，我跑调都给你鼓掌。

晚上我想，今天我做对的事只有一件：没抢话。以前她难过，我总急着讲道理，道理像一把一把的伞，塞给她，她其实不需要伞，她需要有人站在雨里陪一会儿。嗯、然后呢、我在，这三句比一百句都管用。倾听这件事，课本没有，课间教给我了。下一个课间，她要是还想说，我还去那个角落，还只带纸巾和耳朵。

Today My Only Job Was to Listen

November 7, Friday, light rain.

At break today, Song Miaomiao did not come find me as usual. She stood alone at the corridor corner beside the fire cabinet. That corner is narrow, just right for two people. It is where we used to quiz each other on recitations. I walked over, and her tears were already falling.

She said it in pieces: she was cut in the second selection for the choir, the teacher said her pitch was not accurate, and she had practiced for two weeks, humming to her phone at home every day. As she talked she burst into crying, asking whether she really sounds bad, telling me to answer honestly. In the past I would have answered at once: not bad, the teacher misjudged, there is a next time. I could recite those lines myself. But today, for some reason, I did not say them. I just stood there and took a tissue out of my pocket for her. She cried for a while and said a sentence, and I answered with one hum. The sentence I said most was: and then? She told the whole story twice, from signing up to being cut, from being cut to the way home. People came and went in the corridor. Someone looked at us, and I shifted my body to block the view so she would not be seen.

When she finished crying, she sniffled by herself and said: actually it is not that terrible, I was just stifled, stifled all morning. Then she asked whether the next class is math. I said yes. She went to fill her water bottle, her steps the same as always. When the class bell rang she was already at her desk opening a book, as if nothing happened. But I know something did happen, and inside the nothing something loosened a little.

After school in the afternoon she waited for me at the school gate and handed me a bottle of orange soda, thanking me for not lecturing her with big principles in the morning. She said the classmate in front of her desk had lectured her for half a street yesterday, and it only annoyed her more. She said the choir has another make-up selection next month, and she plans to sign up again. I said okay, and if she needs an audience I will sign up too, clapping even when I sing off key.

At night I thought about it. The only thing I did right today was not grabbing the conversation. Before, whenever she was sad, I rushed to reason with her. Reasons are like umbrella after umbrella stuffed into her hands. She did not need umbrellas. She needed someone standing in the rain with her for a while. Mm, and then, I am here: those three beats work better than a hundred sentences. Listening is not in any textbook. The break taught it to me. Next break, if she still wants to talk, I will go to that corner again, carrying only tissues and ears.