A/N:  Disclaimer:  I didn't draw it, credit to anyone who did!

I sat there, grinning goofily at my father.  Is goofily a word?  Probably not, but if it was, that was the word to describe me.  Why was I grinning goofily?  We had just solved a case that had been reopened about a few weeks ago, the first time a mention was of the Beverly Hills treasure was thousands of years ago, so I can't believe Joe and I found it.

"Frank?" my father, the famous Fenton Hardy asked, waving his hand in front of my face.

"Oh yeah," I snapped to attention, every trace of grinning off my face,"Sorry, Dad, what were you saying?"

"You and Joe did great with that case!  And the way you hit those bad guys!  Man, they did not know who they were messing with!" my father laughed.

"Hey, where's Joe, I haven't seen him since yesterday!" I said.

"Gertrude is downstairs scolding and fussing over the scar on his cheek." he laughed,"Must of been some fight.  He had it yesterday when he came home.  Did you not notice?"

My eyes lighted up, scar?  I rushed out of my father's study and into the room I share with Joe.  I ran in and climbed to the top bunk bed.  It was hard climbing up, since Joe insisted that they put no ladder.  As I said earlier, Joe is an amazing fighter and gymnast.  It's a little embarrassing for him because he can do all these flips and such, and the girls tease him.  But it was fine for him, he learned martial arts, and combined it with his amazing gymnast powers.  So, since Joe loved doing that so much, he wanted no ladder.  He could always flip up.  But when I wanted to talk to my little brother, things got a little hard.  I knew Joe would be here after being tortured by my Aunt.  And there certainly Joe was.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah." he said, with a weak smile,"Man it took you long to figure out I got hurt."

That was like a stab in the stomach,"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

But I knew it wasn't later when Joe didn't flip off his bed, or cartwheel out of the room, or slid down the banister, or walk on his hands to the dinner table.  And when his easy and witty banter seemed to be nowhere, I knew something was wrong.  So, right before bed time I slipped up the pole to his bunk and sat on his bed right beside him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing my foot.  You're my brother, and I know for a fact that something is terribly wrong."

"I told you nothing Frank, now please stop bothering me." he flipped over onto his side and pulled his superhero comic blanket sheet above his head.  If you ask me, he's a little to old for it, but then again, I do have math blankets.

"Please Joe, tell me what's wrong!" I begged, shaking his blankets around.

"Nothing!  Frank I'm tired, leave me alone..." he mumbled from under his covers.

I sighed,"Okay.  But did it happen on the mission?"

"Yeah..." and that was that,"And no nothing is wrong.

I slid down onto my bed and started to write in my journal.  It pained me that Joe would not tell me what was wrong.  Every since we were like five and six we were best friends, and we would tell each other everything, but today seemed quite different.  So I started to write.

I don't think Joe should do detective work anymore.  I just don't think it's cut out for him... he should stop!

I wanted to write all my reasons why he should quit, so I did.

He's loud when it come's to hiding.  

He talks to much.

All he does is silly gymnastic tricks and he banters with the thieves.

He's a liability.

I knew down in my heart that this was not true, but I couldn't let Joe get hurt again, and slightly depressed looking.  So I knew this list would help.  Not bothering to close my notebook, I slopped on the floor and drifted off.

Little did I know this one careless action would create many many problems/