They were the only guests at the resort, other than me. Resort is a strong word—it was a few small cottages and a lawn. I was relieved when they arrived, no longer finding myself all alone in a tiny town outside Mexico City as a single female. They were all 18, 4 young gay boys from Mexico City, 2 couples, their first romantic vacation together as lovers, their first weekend away from home with their novios. They offered me a beer and were blasting Lana Del Rey on their boombox. I gratefully joined them, always finding it easier to connect with teenagers, and they began to practice their English with me.

“We are Paco y Bruni,” said Paco. “We’ve been dating for a year!”

“That’s wonderful, how did you meet?

“We are cousins!” declared Paco proudly. “Our is the MOST forbidden of all loves. Cousins AND gay!”

They all laughed and Paco gave Bruni a long, passionate kiss.

The other two were both named Eric, spelled differently. One, skinny and small, dressed preppy and dashing with dark black hair. The other, skinnier and smaller, dressed in baggy clothes with a backwards gangsta ballcap.

“We’ve been together 3 weeks,” the preppy Eric explained, not yet confident enough to kiss in public. The gangsta Erick looked away and didn’t speak to me.

Paco told me of his dreams to start his own fashion line in New York City one day. Bruni would be a famous chef, cooking romantic meals for them each night.

“Y tu, Eric?” I asked the one who would speak to me.

“Oh, I very much dream to one day become an actuary” he proclaimed in very formal English. They all laughed and he blushed, but his eyes held the mix of fear and passion that only comes with daring to voice and follow your true dream.

“Yes” said Paco, “These are MIS BRUJAS! Hello, you lovely witches!! You’re all beautiful BRUJAS!!”

We drank more beers and the sun set behind the mountains. Sometimes I spoke Spanish. Sometimes they spoke English. My hair, still in cornrows from the tourist beach, earned me the nickname Medusa.

We relocated to their room where they played showtune after showtune off their phones, and took a continuous stream of Instagram selfies.

“Bruni and I have one Instagram between us,” explained Paco. “Otherwise we get too jealous!” They laughed and kissed passionately again.

The front desk lady knocked on our door. She was going dancing in town, at a straight club. She knew I was here alone and asked if I wanted to join. I thanked her and declined, being already enamored with these brujas.

As the door closed behind her, gangsta Erick stood up and walked over to me. He looked me in the eyes for the first time and lit a cigarette.

“I hate speaking English,” he said. “And I wanted you to leave so we didn’t speak English all night. But you’re one of us now. You’re a true bruja!”

With that he put on Cell Block Tango from Chicago and proceeded to teach me the backwards steps to a Mexican waltz, continuously correcting my dance moves until I got it right, while the other brujas laughed and cheered.

For dinner they produced one Cup Noodles container and we shared it 5 ways. The hot salty taste of noodles still comes back to me whenever I hear Lana del Rey’s Summertime Sadness being played.

Eventually they said good night and we all retired to our rooms.

But even now, one year later, they still post on my Instagram photos in all capital letters:

M   I   S   S     U     B   R   U   J   A   A   A   A   A   A   A   A   A   A!

And I smile as I watch the status updates as Eric passed his actuarial exams and celebrated his 1-year anniversary with the other Erick.