A thick manila folder fell onto his feet. Raising an eyebrow, the sunglasses were slowly pushed back into his inky black hair, asking, "What's this?" His feet slowly came down from the balcony railing.
"Your annual list of wimps to pick from," His producer sneered, eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Try and at least pick a decent cast this season, will you, Mr. McLean?" With that, the producer left. The noise of a door shutting boomed throughout the small apartment.
Sighing, the man got up from the lawn chair that he had set up out on the small, claustrophobic balcony and moved inside, slamming the sliding glass door and locking it. Feet padded barefoot over dirty sad colored carpet, to the dining room table. Tossing the folder down, he grabbed a quick soda from the fridge to drink while he worked.
Chris McLean, the laziest and trashiest man you will ever meet. Never, in all of the five years he had been living in it, has that apartment been properly cleaned. Chinese and Japanese take-out boxes and containers littered the kitchen, along with various brand name soda bottles and cans. Dishes were piled up in the sink, only about a third of clean things left in the white, stained dishwasher. Popping the lid on a can of cola, Chris plopped down in a dark, wobbly wooden chair. Not the best idea in the world.
Flipping the manila file open, he pulled the trashcan over. There were about a hundred profiles inside, waiting to be read and sorted into who would be going to the island. Picking up half the entries, Chris put them in File 13 without a second thought. He believed in fate, and if it was meant to be.. they would be in the half that was still left.
Forum after forum was dumped into the trash can, eventually leaving him with only two female profiles to choose from for who would be a contestant. He already had his twelve boys, and eleven girls. Chris picked up the first girls profile, and realized she was just some stupid kid from some small town who was too sassy. He had already found the sassy girl. Growling, Chris ripped it in half and dumped it in the trash, putting his head in one of his hands. This last girl better be good...
Bounding up the driveway, Ashton ripped open her mailbox's door. She pulled out the stacks of letters, and wandered inside her small, one story house. She threw mail down on the table as she looked through them, until she found the letter.
The letter that would change her life.
She screamed, causing her cat to jump up and her brother bolt up from the couch. "ILL SHOOT ANY TRESPASSERS-" He began, and Ashton threw the letter at him.
Mason read it, and grinned. "Looks like you're going to be spending eight weeks at Camp Wawanakwa."