...my name is Adrien Chandler, and if you're on the fan forums you probably know me as the very first (albeit unofficial) winner of Think or Twink. I came into the competition curious and confident, but even I didn't escape anywhere near unchanged. I want to tell you all how it happened, back when it all began.
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From the very beginning, the producers made it clear this wasn't going to be like a real reality TV show. Not yet, anyway. They had a strict budget, so, for one, all of us already lived near LA. They did get us hotels near the studio, but we had to share rooms. Still, we were all pretty excited. I mean, even if we didn't ever get put on TV, it was still a pilot, right?
Day one of filming they moved our belongings into our respective rooms in the admittedly shitty hotel, and set us up in a greenroom to wait while they got the set ready and got the test audience in their seats. We weren't really given much prep, which I thought was weird, but I guess it was just a pilot. Maybe half the excitement of game shows was not telling people much ahead of time?
I was the last to arrive, which didn't really surprise me. People in theater say "15 minutes early is on time," but, even though I still wanted to be a normal actor back then, I was never good at being on time. When I was escorted into the greenroom, the other four were already there, and already seemed to know each other. I scanned the room for a free seat, and sighed. The only spot left was on the couch where two other guys were already sitting, and one look at them told me they were far too hot to be interested in talking to someone like me. Still, I made my way over to them and sat down.
"Hi," I said, suddenly aware of what a weird setting this was to meet new people, "I'm, uh, Adrian. How did you guys hear about this show?"
Only one of the men turned to greet me — the older looking one. He had light brown skin and dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was swept back in that easygoing, "I woke up like this" way half the guys in West Hollywood had these days. His face was angular, with a broad, sharp jaw, and a dusting a dark stubble across his cheeks. I bit my lip, trying not to let my eyes drift down to the way his well-cut muscles shifted under his tight V-neck as he turned to greet me.
"Hey," he said, flashing me a perfect smile, "The name's Jedrick. I work in Hollywood off and on, stunt double. I got the memo from a friend who saw the ad. Figured I'd give it a try. I look great on TV."
He grinned again at that, and I was torn between blushing and internally rolling my eyes. Instead, I leaned to the side, and tried to give the other man a friendly wave.
"Hey," I said, "What about you?"
The man looked up and gave me a cool look, wavy blond hair shifting at the motion before falling back to frame his steely gray eyes.
"Brady," he said by way of an introduction, clearly not interested in talking to me, "And I dunno. Thought it would be fun."
I grimaced. I'd noticed when I walked in the room that the guys who were already here had seemingly divided themselves into jocks and nerds like it was some kind of high school cafeteria. I'd just had the bad luck of ending up on the jock side.
"Personally I'm here for the trivia," said a light voice from across the room, and I turned to look at the speaker.
The man was tall, but sat hunched over a bit as if used to not showing off his height. He wasn't fat, but he had a comfortable build, knit sweater hugging a soft midsection. He also looked older than most everyone else here, except maybe Jedrick. He had brown eyes and unruly red hair framing a freckled face in a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
"I'm Wallace. Call me Wally," he said, giving me a crooked smile.
I returned it, then turned to the final contestant.
"What about you? You here for the intellectual challenge too?"
I mean the words as a joke, but the man just shrugged, and stifled a yawn.
"Not really," he said, and I noticed a trace of an accent in his words — Spanish? Greek maybe? — "I just wanted something to do, saw the ad on a bulletin board in my dorm, you know how it goes. The prize money would be nice, too. I'm Leo, by the way. Leonardo."
Ah. Italian. I'm ashamed to admit my first thought was to look down at his jeans to see if what they say about Italian men was true, but I stopped myself. Instead, I gave him a shy smile, and studied his face instead. Dark brown hair, hazel green eyes...he looked a bit like an athlete, but more like a swimmer or a runner than a traditional jock. He was tall, too, nearly taller than Wally, and his face wore a bored but easy going expression.
Before I could make more conversation, though, there was a knock at the door.