Billy’s weak spots are also his core strengths and vice versa. He’s defenseless against people in need. After college, he plans to go to med school, become a pediatrician, and subspecialize in something brainy, like clinical genetics, so he can cure childhood aphasia. Sure, it sounds noble. But you know how super-smart people are sometimes big idiots? That’s my kid brother. While Billy’s tunnel vision makes him an excellent student and an inspired competitor (he’s a power sprinter, with a laser focus that can bend steel), it also insulates him. He doesn’t see danger until it’s too late.

“She’s a compulsive liar,” Nate reminds me.

“So her accusation is bullshit, then.” Despite all I know about Billy, I feel a sweeping relief, like being waved through a DUI checkpoint when I’m stone-cold sober. There’s no way I could have gotten a ticket, but I’m still grateful it’s over.

“Wait. You thought it could be true?” Nate is incredulous. “Of course it’s bullshit.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything, Nate. Lighten up.”

“Lighten up? Billy is being interrogated, Cassie.”

“I’m sure he asked for a lawyer. Everyone with a TV knows if you ask for an attorney, the cops have to back off.”

“Never gonna happen. Billy won’t ask for a fucking thing. He’ll choke out what they want to hear and then clam up until they let him go.”

Billy has a speech impediment, a stutter that’s triggered under stress. Most days, it’s barely detectable, but once he starts, he can’t stop. Then he gets embarrassed and won’t talk at all, which makes him seem sullen when really he’s ashamed. In this way, my brother is more sensitive than most college juniors. He’d never hurt anyone, much less Diana Holly—a girl he loved and still has feelings for.

“Dad wants you to come home,” Nate says abruptly, a non sequitur that sounds like a command. “I’ve been here all day.” He has his own place in SoHo, a loft he bought last fall when Billy and I moved out. But from what I can tell, he’s usually at our parents’ place uptown, taking advantage of their fully stocked refrigerator, private gym, and dry cleaning service.

“Why didn’t he call me himself?” Until I left, I was our dad’s go-to child. In my absence, Nate has claimed my spot.

“Oh, I don’t know, Cassie. Maybe because he’s busy with his son being in jail and all. Why does it matter?”

I try for a conciliatory tone. “It doesn’t matter. I was asking rhetorically. Where’s Billy now?”

“In custody somewhere near Princeton. Cops don’t dick around with a rape accusation, Cass. He’s been arrested, fingerprinted, and tossed in a cell. They’re holding him while they investigate.”