Sorry, part one: My own "Sorensen Carlisle"

I was fourteen when I read a book called "The Changeover" by Margaret Mahy. I won't go much into the story, since you can read about it for yourself here), but there was a character in the story called Sorensen Carlisle, an enigmatic prefect who happened to be a white witch. Like many other young readers of The Changeover, I fell in love with the concept of this mysterious character, desperately hoping that I could meet someone like him, in spirit if not of form. Then, later in the summer, I did. His name wasn't Sorensen (Sorry for short), but I don't want to use his real name, so Sorry suits him best for this tale. We met down by the old bridge which ran across a stream close to the Bluebell woods. My two best friends had introduced me to him and the other "new guys" they'd been hanging around with. I knew as soon as we met that there was a spark between us, more meaningful than a kiss, even at that young age. Two weeks passed until we were able to meet again. As soon as we arrived back from holiday, I dashed off hoping to find him. And as I neared the old wooden bridge, I saw him, waiting for me, leant against wood with his hands in his pockets and strands of his dark hair falling over his face. Our first kiss was like fire. That first embrace at sunset as we stood by the pussy willow tree on the brow of the hill... I can remember it as vividly now as I could then. Times like that make an imprint in your mind forever... I wish that from here, I could tell a tale of true love, but teenage hormones and temperaments being what they were in me, this could never have been the case. The months passed, and all the while, Sorry was the perfect romantic gentleman. We had some great times together, but after a while I wanted more, and Sorry wasn't ready then to give it. My virginity, I lost to another man, one of my life's regrets. In the story of my life, he doesn't feature too much, since I never felt the way about him as I did for Sorry. It was a strange trick of fate that Sorry and I met on the day I'd broken up with the other man. We talked, we kissed... But this time, I wasn't ready for more, still hung up with issues about the other guy and his betrayal. I broke up with Sorry again on Valentine's day, too worked up to realise the date's significance until it was too late. My friend woke me up to it when she passed on Sorry's valentines card, torn in two with a speck of blood on the corner from the cut on his wrist where he'd torn off the band of friendship I'd made for him...