Free Motocross Madness by Franklin W. Dixon

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    The two of them rocketed around the next berm, but they had fallen far behind the rest of the pack.
    â€œKeep at it!” Frank shouted into his helmet mike. “There’s still a long way to go.”
    â€œWe can catch up,” Joe agreed. “I won’t let Hawk beat us after what she did!”
    They pressed forward as fast as they dared. Over the next few laps they made up much of the ground they’d lost. One by one, the brothers passed the other racers. But no matter how hard they tried, neither Hardy could catch up to Amber Hawk.
    She crossed the finish line a good ten seconds ahead of Frank, who barely edged out Joe for second place. The two of them skidded their bikes to a stop at the edge of Pitstop Row.
    Hawk wasn’t waiting around to congratulate them. She waved perfunctorily to the crowd, then quickly headed back to her private garage bay.
    Joe grumbled, “We could have finished first if it wasn’t for her!”
    â€œWe’re lucky to have finished at all,” Frank replied. “These heats are tough, and placing in the top four is pretty good. We’ve made it through to the next round, and that’s what really matters. How do you feel?”
    Joe examined his mud-covered armor and battered bike. “I feel okay,” he said. “The cycle seems good to go, too—aside from the mud.”
    â€œWe can wash it down before our next run,” Frank said.
    â€œYou might want to wash yourselves down, too!” jibed a friendly voice.
    The brothers turned as Jamal walked towardthem. “Unless you don’t care that no one knows it’s you under all that mud,” he continued. “Personally, when I win a race, I want the whole world to know it’s Jamal Hawkins.” He smiled, even though he was still covered with mud.
    â€œYou still look like the Amazing Muck Man to me,” Joe said.
    â€œI was just on my way back to the garage to change,” Jamal replied. “I cleaned the bike up first. But I promised you guys I’d meet you trackside. How long until your next heat?”
    â€œWe’re going to check right now,” Frank said.
    â€œOkay,” Jamal said. “I’m on in a few minutes. Try to catch my next race, if you can. I’ve got to go clean up.”
    â€œSee you soon,” Joe said.
    The brothers wheeled their bikes to the postrace information pavilion while Jamal went back to get his motorcycle and change armor.
    Much to the Hardys’ relief, their second heats didn’t include each other.
    â€œI understand now why all those Hayday girls aren’t competing,” Joe said. “Racing against your family is tough.”
    â€œWe may still have to face each other in the finals,” Frank said.
    â€œI’ll see you guys there,” Jules Kendallson said, butting in. He stepped out of a crowd of racers gathered trackside to watch the heats the Hardysweren’t participating in. “I saw you race,” he said. “Nice recovery. You two are pretty quick.”
    â€œYeah, thanks,” Joe said. Noting that Kendall-son’s armor was clean, he added, “Good luck in your first heat.”
    Kendallson nodded and popped his black and green helmet onto his shaggy head. “Catch you in the finals.” He pushed his green and black motorcycle toward the track and quickly disappeared into the throng of contestants.
    As he left, Elizabeth Navarro pushed her yellow and white bike in the brothers’ direction. “Fraternizing with the enemy?” she asked.
    â€œEnemy?” Frank replied.
    â€œYou know,” Elizabeth said, “the competition.”
    â€œOh, you mean Kendallson?” Joe said.
    â€œWhat was he trying to do?” she asked. “Psych you out?”
    â€œNo,” Frank said. “He was just wishing us luck in the upcoming heats.”
    Elizabeth frowned and crinkled her nose. “That’s odd,” she said. “He