Roman Holiday - By Ashleyn Poston Page 0,26

been five years, and let's face it, you made this place famous. So, they heightened the fence, that gonna make you whimper?"

"Is it sharp at the top?" He frowns.

Mohawk claps his buddy on the back. "Now gimme a push, yeah?"

I glance up at the building. "Aren't there security cameras? A guard? Police?"

Boaz studies me. "You've never done this before, have you?"

"Breaking into a mini-golf course?" My eyes flicker across the top of the fence nervously. Is it sharp at the top? "I was sort of hoping my first time would be a bank, at least. Or my ex-boyfriend's house."

The boys chuckle in that knowing silly-you sort of way before Roman cups his hands and squats down. Boaz shoves his combat boot into Roman's hands and reaches up to the top of the fence. He eases over and lands on the other side gracefully. He wipes down his kilt and turns back with two thumbs up.

"Okay bra, your turn."

Roman nudges his head, still squatting down. "You next."

I glare at him. "I don't want to get arrested!"

He rolls his eyes. "Would you really rather break into your ex-boyfriend's house?"

"Maybe." The fence is impossibly high. I can't do this. "Just to stick his underwear in the freezer."

"Classy. Remind me not to piss you off. C'mon, Junebug...it's your life, it's now or never. You're not gonna live forever—unlessyou'reEdwardSparklepants," he sings it in the tune to Bon Jovi's "It's My Life."

"Did you really make a Twilight reference?"

"I'm full of chagrining surprises. Now, c'mon."

For the record, this is a really bad idea. Then again, Dad always said, "The world's built on bad ideas." I never knew what he meant until now. What will I regret ten years from now—jumping over this fence, or walking away?

I suck in a deep breath, clench my fists, and take a running start. My foot catches hold on his hand and he hoists me up as if I'm as light as a feather. My hands grapple the top of the fence, and my other shoe sticks into the chain links. I swipe my leg over, anchoring myself nine feet in the air, and hoist my other over, too. This isn't too bad.

And that's when I lose it.

My hand slips, and I tip backwards. I don't even have time to scream.

"TIMMMBEEEERRRRR!" Boaz yells.

For a moment, the sky spins before I roll off the lumpy mass that caught my fall. I shake my head, blinking, and slowly begin to sit up. Nothing's broken, but I think my butt is bruised. Yeah, I'll regret this ten years from now when I have butt-replacement surgery. Roman grapples onto the fence and shakes it. "Hey! You okay? Junebug?"

It's funny, because he actually sounds concerned. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Oh my nuts," the lumpy mass I fell on groans, sitting up beside me. Boaz rubs the inside of his leg achingly. "I think you squashed 'em."

"Don't be ridiculous, she couldn't find them even if she tried," says Roman as he scales the fence like a cat.

I can't help but watch how he moves, like he's done it a million times. He feet go into the right holes, his hands reach just far enough up for his shirt to expose a sliver of stomach. Call it a concussion, but my eyes won't cooperate. I can't look away. He reaches the top, his arm muscles smooth and taunt under his skin, and swings himself over. He lands on his feet and wipes his hands off on his cut-off jeans.

"There, that wasn't so hard."

Both Boaz and I give him an eat-shit look as we help each other up.

We're near the sixteenth hole on Course One—the course Dad liked the most. It has a waterfall and gives the best view of the pyrotechnic show that goes on every thirty minutes in the small lagoon. Arrg, Pirates! Mini-Golf is shaped like any fantasy Port Royal. There is a lagoon cradled in the arms of a crescent-shaped mass of land populated with put-put courses and fake eighteenth-century buildings. There's a pirate ship in the lagoon, made famous by Roman and Holly's viral music video of "Crush on You." In the video, he was in heart-printed white boxers and had shaggy dark hair, a far cry from suspenders and orange hair. In one of the clips, if you squint, you can see the faint blurs of policemen wading through the thick algae-infested water toward them.

I follow Roman and Boaz over the different holes, taking shortcuts through the shrubbery to the dock that leads out