It was, like, totally fucked. When the four of us got to Mazatlan, we found that there were four really hot women next door. They were Pi Phis from Illinois or Michigan or one of those places. All four of them were serious babes, and they made it clear that they were there to get loose and party. We were completely stoked--there was even a door connecting our two rooms, and when we went out to the bars they left it open.

We'd had three or four rounds and everybody was just starting to get relaxed when I looked across the room and saw Peteena. She was wearing dark glasses and a big hat pulled down low over her eyes, but I recognized her anyway. And she was looking right at us.

Now I'm not uptight about sex. I got in on a train that one time at the house when that girl got really drunk and put out for all of us, and I wouldn't say no to a threesome with two good-looking women. But the kind of stuff Peteena gets involved in is too weird for me. I mean, she'd have all eight of us with everybody doing everybody else all at once while she stood there smoking cigarettes and watching through her shades and not saying a word. That's too strange. So I looked straight at her and shook my head and went, like, "No fucking gracias, senyorita." She just shrugged her shoulders and turned to talk to the bartender. When I looked back that way again she was gone.

About fifteen minutes later the waiter showed up with a tray of margaritas. We told him we hadn't ordered them, but he said that a lady had already paid for them. We'd already drunk them before I realized that it was probably Peteena. I figured she'd just sent them over to say no hard feelings.

Not long after that, just when we were starting to get loose, one of the guys mentioned Lake Pontchartrain. I don't even remember what we were talking about at the time. But as soon as he said it, all four of the girls started screaming--not screaming like they were feeling rowdy and having a good time, but screaming like in a slasher movie. They kept it up for about a minute, but it seemed like fucking forever. When they calmed down we asked them why, but they couldn't say--and then somebody asked if it was something to do with Lake Pontchartrain, and they all started in screaming again.

We had to leave after that, so we went to another bar. All of us guys knew what subject to avoid, but it was like we couldn't stay away from it. I mean, somebody'd be talking about football or Jimmy Buffet or their sociology teacher, and suddenly without thinking about it they'd stumble onto Lake Pontchartrain and the girls would start screaming again. It wasn't like one guy was doing it just to be an asshole, either--even I was telling this one girl about the intramural tennis tournament and suddenly, I don't even know how, that fucking lake just popped out. We knew it had to be something in those margaritas, but we couldn't do anything about it.

We got kicked out of two more bars because of it, and by then everybody was getting all stressed out and we went back to the hotel. As soon as we got there the girls all went into their room and locked the connecting door. And the next day when we got up, they'd moved out and a fat couple with three little kids had moved in. We never got laid the whole spring break, and it was all because of Peteena.