Free Motocross Madness by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

hasn’t been very nice to me.”
    â€œMaybe that’s because you’re ahead of him in the standings,” Joe suggested. “Frank and I are in the middle of the pack, but you’ve been doing pretty well for yourself. He’s probably jealous.”
    She blushed slightly. “Maybe. I’ve worked hard to get where I am,” she said. “I’ve been riding a motorbike nearly all my life.”
    â€œDid your dad get you into it?” Frank asked. “We heard he used to ride a bit.”
    â€œMostly I developed the interest on my own,” she said. “My dad’s been helpful . . . sometimes. Other times  . . .” She sighed. “It’s like he’s living out his dreams through me.”
    Frank nodded. “That happens between a lot of parents and kids.”
    Elizabeth sighed. “That doesn’t make it any easier,” she said. “I think my dad wants me to win this particular race more than I want to win it myself. He even upgraded my motorcycle.”
    â€œIt’s a beautiful bike,” Frank said, admiring the sleek white and yellow machine.
    â€œNot that I don’t want to win,” Elizabeth said. Her blue eyes became steely at the thought. “I intend to beat everyone on the course—including both of you. I’m right behind your friend in the standings.”
    â€œYou mean Jamal?” Joe asked. He checked his updates sheet. “So you are. Good luck with that.”
    â€œYou don’t really mean that,” she scoffed.
    Frank and Joe laughed. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have Jamal taken down a peg or two,” Joe said. “His confidence is a bit much! Good luck.”
    â€œGood luck to you, too,” she said. “See you.” With that, she wheeled her bike toward the track.
    â€œDo you think she has a chance?” Joe asked.
    â€œThat’s just what I’ve been wondering,” said an older man’s voice. Asa Goldberg pushed out of thecrowd toward the Hardys. He stepped carefully between the muddy ruts beside the course so as not to soil his nice leather shoes. “The betting line on Navarro is pretty active.”
    â€œPeople are betting on this race?” Frank said.
    â€œIn Vegas, they bet on anything,” Goldberg said. “I have people out there who wire me the odds. I can’t decide who I want to back. The line’s pretty good on you boys, too.”
    â€œIs that ethical for a sponsor?” Joe asked.
    Goldberg shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It doesn’t change the money I’m putting up for the competition,” he said. “Besides, having a stake in a race can make watching it more interesting.”
    â€œI thought the thrill of the competition was enough,” Joe said.
    â€œMaybe if you’re actually in the race,” Goldberg said. “But for folks like me, this benefit is a lot of standing around and glad-handing.”
    â€œI’m sure the Fernandezes can find some work for you if you want to volunteer,” Frank said.
    Goldberg gave a look of mock horror. “And get my hands dirty?” he asked, examining his fingernails. “I got out of that game a long time ago. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the muddy work to you volunteers.”
    â€œThanks,” Joe said, not really meaning it.
    â€œWell, I gotta be checking out the rest of the competition,” Goldberg said. “Y’all race good now, y’hear?”
    â€œWe will,” Frank said. Goldberg ducked back into the crowd once more.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Joe asked after he’d gone. “Will he be betting on us?”
    â€œI doubt it,” Frank said. “We didn’t give him any info to go on. Hey, there’s Jamal.”
    Their friend, smartly dressed in new clean black and red armor, was pushing his motorcycle toward the track starting line. He had his helmet on and looked ready