Work Text:
The night air shimmered as Irma phased back into her world, the familiar sight of Waverly High coming into view. She could’ve gone straight to her bathroom like usual, but nah—tonight was different. Instead, she drifted toward the apple tree behind the school, the one she always called hers.
Even when she was alive, this had been her spot. The place she’d run to when she needed a break from the chaos of high school life. The place where she hid her diary, wedged snugly into a knot in the old, sturdy trunk. Some things never changed. Even in death, it was still her secret stash.
She reached into the knot and pulled out the diary, her fingers tracing the smooth, plastic cover—a hot pink and electric blue masterpiece, decorated with doodles of cassette tapes, lightning bolts, and blocky, graffiti-style lettering. It screamed 80s. Just like her.
Floating up to one of the higher branches, she settled in, crossing her ankles as she leaned back against the trunk. The moonlight spilled through the leaves, casting a soft glow over the pages as she flipped open the book. Her chunky, oversized handwriting filled each line, letters tilted and bold, the way she'd always written. She popped the cap off her favorite pen—one of those classic multicolor click pens with neon ink—and got to work.
Okay, so first off, MAJOR shoutout to Ceci. Girl, if you ever find some way to read this (psychic powers, ghostly intuition, whatever), you’re the raddest friend ever. No joke. If you hadn’t hyped me up, I’d still be lurking around Waverly, pretending like I didn’t wanna go on this date.
But guess what? I DID.
And it was AWESOME.
Like, sure, I was totally wiggin’ at first. Sidney showed up late—big strike, my dude—but then he hit me with that “I ironed my best shirt for you” line, and ugh, I couldn’t even stay mad. Classic 50s gentleman move. (Ceci, you were right. I do have a type.)
The Multiverse Hub? Total trip. Never seen so many wild-looking ghosts in one place. And the malt shop? Had that perfect mix of creepy-cool. Neon lights, jukebox tunes, floating trays—kinda like the best parts of both our worlds smashed together. And the food! Okay, so Sidney ordered, like, the plainest milkshake ever, but I got a neon pink one with a name I can’t even pronounce. I win.
Talking with him? Kinda surreal. I mean, I knew we had stuff in common, but hearing him actually say it? That hit different. The whole “school geek, haunted hallways, got messed up by bullies” thing… yeah. He gets it. And, not gonna lie, it’s kinda nice having someone who does.
So, yeah. First date? Officially a success. Didn’t get slimed, didn’t say anything too cringe, and I think he actually likes me? Wild.
Now I just gotta figure out what happens next.
No pressure, right?
- Irma
(P.S. This apple is straight-up the best part of haunting Waverly. No cafeteria slop, just crisp, sweet, 80s perfection.)
With a satisfied sigh, she clicked her pen shut and ran her fingers over the drying ink. Perfect. She let the moment linger, then carefully tucked the diary back into its hiding place.
Drifting down from the tree, she phased through the school’s walls, gliding through dark, empty hallways until she reached her bathroom haunt. Her reflection flickered in the old mirror, and for once, she didn’t look at herself with a sigh.
Instead, she grinned—soft, a little dreamy.
Yeah. This was definitely a night worth writing about.