Seconds after the accident, the teenager lay in the road near his damaged bike. He’d been pedaling on a gravel shoulder, a guitar case strapped to his back, when he veered abruptly onto a two-lane street. The car struck him with a sickening thwunk, and he tumbled across the pavement, bike and body skidding, asphalt shaving his skin. When his momentum finally stopped, he looked at me, eyes wide. And he screamed. “It’s okay!” I shouted, running from the sidewalk onto the street.