Mark likes routines. 

He also likes organization and order.  He likes knowing what to do, where to go and how to be.  For example, on weekdays he has school from 7:35am to 3:00pm and if he caught the 6:30 train he would have time to sit down for breakfast and be waited upon the cute girl with the shoulder length hair.

But today was not a weekday, today was Saturday, and what does a high functioning teenager do on the weekends? Follow his routines. 

Mark sat on the train, bulky headphones around his neck and satchel in lap, jerking forward slightly as the train came to a halt. 

Mark stood, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder and drifted
 towards the front of the train car as many other people were doing.  He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, hoping that a cup of coffee could nurse his constant headache.

After pushing through crowds of angry business people in suits and ties, he finally made it outside the large station.  The buildings were suffocated by clouds of fog and the weather was just as dampening.  Mark shrugged off the thought and pushed on to Lola's Diner, hiking his bag up.

Lola's Diner was where Mark had been going to for the past four years of his life, everyday, since he started high school.  With four months left in his career as a high school student, he couldn't break tradition.  

When he had started going to Lola's he was waited on by an older lady, whom he had grown to look forward seeing in his Freshman and Sophomore years.  She, although at first intimidating, would throw in a free slice of warm apple pie once a month, and a speechless bond grew between the two of them. It was not until his Junior year when the woman had disappeared and Mark didn't have enough mouth to question where she had gone.  He had assumed the worst.

He bounced between servers, them coming and going until just a few months back when the girl with shoulder length hair came into perspective.  She didn't wear a name tag, and everyday since she had started working, Mark would coax himself into asking her more about herself.  So far he knew that she was 19 and a dancer, but he hasn't asked her name, and it was today that he would find out for sure.

Mark tugged at the front door, greeted by the manager of the small diner.  He nodded and took his usual seat at the most left seat at the counter in front of the kitchen.  He placed his satchel on the floor and tried to straighten out his green collared shirt, hoping he was presentable.  

He felt the shadow of a body in front of him, slowly dragging his eyes upward to who he suspected to be the girl with the shoulder length hair. 

Instead, his eyes met with a rather short boy with jet-black hair and brown almond shaped eyes. 

"Hi, my name is Jackson and I'll be your server for today.  What can I get for you?" he said in slightly accented English. 

Mark was shocked.  This was not at all what he had planned, and in two sentences he now knew more about this waiter than he ever got to know about the previous waitress. 

Frustrated, Mark opened his mouth to say "The usual." only to realize that this kid had no idea what his usual was.

"I'll have scrambled eggs with a side of wheat toast, thanks." he finally said.  The boy, Jackson, nodded and scribbled down his order, smiling.

"Would you like any orange juice, water or coffee?" 

"Coffee thanks." was his cut response.

Jackson nodded again, "It'll be right out."

Mark mumbled a thanks to the new boy, hoping not to look too overworked about not having the female server.  He let out a deep breath, discarding any idea of flirting. 

Jackson appeared to be shorter than Mark, then again he was sitting and the server was standing to the height to height ratio might be off.  Jackson looked to be Asian, and although his English seemed to be flawless, he still had a trace of an accent. 

Besides Mark, the only other customer in Lola's was a man sipping coffee in a booth. Business was slow, per usual.  To break Mark's train of thought, Jackson slid behind the counter with a mug on a small plate with toast and butter. 

"Your wheat toast and coffee." he said cheerfully. Mark nodded as a thank you, it still too early for him to show any signs of excitement, especially after his disappointing morning. 

Mark picked up a piece of toast and commenced applying an unhealthy amount of butter to its surface, not noticing the the figure standing above him until it spoke again. 

"So why are you here this early?" 

Jackson.

The lack of shoulder length haired females was really starting to get on Mark's nerves. 

"I'm here every morning." was his somewhat bitter response. 

"Really? And I'm sure I would have noticed a pretty faced person if they come here every morning." Jackson shrugged, leaning up against the counter, practically shadowing Mark's breakfast. 

Mark placed his butter knife down on the plate emotionlessly. "You're new here?"

"Yep, 's just a part time job for now. Hopefully I can be out of here in less than six months." He cocked his head to the side then pointed at Mark's toast. "That good?"

Mark couldn't help but stifle a laugh.  A waiter, asking if the food was good?

"Yeah, it's fine, I guess." 

"Kinda gross, wheat toast? Man, I was seriously judging your life choices."

Mark rolled his eyes, "Why don't you go and check if my food is ready instead of getting in my face." 

Jackson stood, eyebrows raised, but a toothy smile still plastered to his face. "Do you want more coffee?"