Hollywood's Not America//One Shot

This is a JB one shot that Addie from IMDB wrote. It's called Hollywood's Not America.

It's pretty amazing!

Thanks to Addie for letting us post this!






"Hey, Mama J!" I slipped through the Jonas' front door, just like I did almost everyday. I hugged Denise, and pulled my sunglasses out of my hair.

"Mama Mia!" She smiled, flaunting a fake Italian accent. Mama Mia had been my nickname ever since I can remember, and when I found out that the boys' fans called Denise 'Mama J', I decided I would (jokingly!) taunt her with that nickname.

"Mmm! Smells amazing in here!" I remarked, eyeing the steaming hot pizza Denise had just pulled out of the oven.

"Ah, well, Joe had his heart set on pizza the first night back home." With her oven mitts still on, she picked off a cooked pepperoni and tossed it in her mouth. "Would you like to stay for dinner? There's enough to go around."

"I'd love to, but Jenna's coming home from college for a week, so we're going out, but thanks so much for the offer." I thanked her. "Speaking of Joe, is he here? I had a new song I wanted to play for him."

"He's picking up some ice cream for dessert at Coldstone, but he should be back soon. If you want to, warm up in the studio and I'll send him down when he gets home. ."

"Okay, thanks, Mama J!"

"He'll be so excited to see you. This is the first time you've seen him since we left for Canada, isn't it?"

"Yep! I can't wait to see him either. Well, I better go down and practice the song a couple times." I gave her another quick squeeze and headed down the hall, down the stairs, down another hallway, and opened the heavy steel door to the studio. It was a large, white, soundproofed room where my best friends [the Jonas Brothers. They're a mega-selling, award-winning band, you may have heard of them(:] write, practice and perfect amazing songs. I lightly brushed my fingers along the set of guitars, lined up against the wall, and walked over to the drumset, flipping the drumsticks between my fingers and banging on the cymbals. I finally resorted to the piano, the only instrument I could play with some level of skill. The song I'd written earlier in the day was for Demi's album, but I needed Joe's approval first. I always got nervous playing my songs for him, so I played the chorus, which was a bit tricky, just to clean it up. Joe was taking forever getting ice cream, I decided, glancing at the clock. I quickly remembered the radio in the corner, and flipped it on, the buzzing static sounds burning my ears. I finally reached my favorite station and instantly recognized the song that was starting to play. I sat down at the piano and played along, singing the words my own way. The song, Ferras' "Hollywood's Not America", brought me back to Joe. Every lyric was dripping in memories....

Born Joseph Adam,
With a restless soul

Joe was such a cute kid. I remember when he got in trouble for getting peanut butter handprints all over the Jonas' kitchen, and he looked up at his parents with the most adorable puppy-dog-eyes, and said "It wasn't me!", and his peanut-butter covered hands shot in the air, trying to fool us into thinking he was innocent. My absolute favorite memory of Joe when he was little though, is when we were sitting in my backyard after kindergarten. I dared Joe to kiss me, and he jumped up and puckered his lips. I ran away and hid under the trampoline. Looking back, I almost wish I would've stayed where I was.

He moved west to California,
became a centerfold

That was possibly the worst day of my life. Every time Joe tried to pack something up in a box, I'd pull it out and put it back where he found it. I begged and pleaded them to stay in New Jersey. Don't get me wrong, I really did (and still do!) want the best for Nick, Kevo and Joe, but losing my best friends wasn't what I had in mind. Joe promised he'd come back any chance he could, and once we saved up enough money, he'd get me a plane ticket to visit. It was so hard at the time, but when I first saw a Jonas Brothers poster in a teeny-bopper magazine, I knew it was all worth it. I

But once you change your name,
well, the pieces fall
Now he hardly recognizes
himself at all
And there's never any rain
when you want it,
a hollow little game,
you've won it,
Looking for a thrill, but you've done it all.

"And then I fell and cut my hand on the glass!" Joe laughed, chomping down a bacon cheeseburger.

"Great story, Joe, but don't you remember calling me afterwards and telling me about it?" I dipped a french fry in ketchup.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." His smile faded. "I can't believe we're really hanging out at McDonald's. Wyckoff is so boring now."

"It wasn't boring before you got your Teen Choice Award." I pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess I just hadn't experienced enough of the world to realize what a snoozer this place is."

"Whatever, Joe. What do you wanna do, then?" I asked.

"Do they have an indoor sky-diving center?" He asked excitedly.

"No, but we could always go bungee-jumping off the roof of City Hall!" I offered sarcastically.

"Sweet!" He wiped his mouth and hopped up, like he was ready to go.

"Joe, I was kidding.." I sighed.

"Oh." He sat back down. There's no way that this guy was the same little boy that stayed out until bedtime helping me search for my missing dog, or held my hand on our first day of middle school because I was scared. This Joe Imposter only talked about himself, and how great California was. He never once told me he missed me. He wasn't even funny or charming like the Joe Jonas I knew. As far as I'd seen, Nick and Kevin hadn't changed..what was wrong with Joe?

So long, put your blue jeans back on, boy,
go home,
remember, Hollywood's not America,
So long, put your blue jeans back on, boy,
go home,
remember, Hollywood's not America....
And everybody here is from somewhere else,
you can make a million dollars, but you might lose yourself
And you can take the heat, but will your heart grow cold?
They say acting's just pretending, but even that gets old...

"Joe, can I talk to you?" I led him into our old treehouse in my backyard.

"In the treehouse? That's kinda immature, don't you think?"

"Not really. This place has our history." I pulled him up and sat down. "I'm just gonna be honest. Joe, you're not you anymore. You're like, Mr. Bigshot Famous Guy, and it's weird. It's not who you are, Joe, and I've been really worried about you."

"Don't be." He stared at me coldly. I knew he wouldn't take this well, but the look on his face absolutely shattered my heart. "Mia, I can't believe you're jealous that I'm famous and you're not!"

"What?! Joe, that's NOT-" I started.

"No, Mia. That's just pathetic. I thought you were my best friend." He glared at me and climbed out of the treehouse without another word. So I sat there in the treehouse and cried like a baby. Joe was slowly turning into a cold, heartless robot.

And there's never any rain
when you want it,
a hollow little game,
you've wanted,
Looking for a thrill, but you've done it all
So long, put your blue jeans back on, boy,
go home,
remember, Hollywood's not America,
So long, put your blue jeans back on, boy,
go home,
remember, Hollywood's not America....

2 months had gone by and my dad's job was transferred to California. The boys were still shooting Camp Rock in Canada, but our new house was only 10 minutes away from the Jonas', so I'd come over every day, claiming I was watering Denise's plants, but I normally just turned on the waterhose and then went inside and hung out in Joe's room. I emailed Kevin and Nick everyday, but Joe never sent so much as an text. It was lonely, wondering when he'd come back to his senses. Sure, I had my other best friends, but none of them could be Joe. No one could make me laugh the way he could. I finally broke down and called him. Purposely, I did it during one of his scenes, so I wouldn't feel horrible when he didn't answer, and then I hoped and prayed he would call back. The message on his voicemail made me smile and cry at the same time. The buzzer beeped, and I blurted into his voicemail box...

"I know,
what you're doing,
I know that you,
you can be
anything you want to be.
So long, put your blue jeans back on, boy,
go home,
remember, Hollywood's not America."

And now, here I am. Sitting at this piano in Joe's house, about to see him for the first time since he walked out of my treehouse that day. I stared down at the piano, and a tear splashed the ivory keys. I wiped my eyes and looked up. Joe was standing in the doorway with an apologetic tear in his eye. He ran over to me, picked me up, twirled me around, and whispered softly in my ear...

"..It's not America"