Student Exchange Programs

yes my grammar isnt very good and i’m aware of that but i’m also working on it.
honest opinions not too harsh.
her name is Scarlett Gloria. She lives in a home with her mothers friend fiona and fiona’s son troy.
When I reached troy I saw he’d seen what happen as his face was expressionless that’s why he was so silent on the walk home. We only exchanged a few comments on my day at school, there wasn’t much to say. The way Xavier was to me made me hate him. How could I be so blind, to think I had a chance with him. I hated his green eyes that seem to dazzle me. I hated his upper lip that tortured me. I hate him. I hold no interest in him, even the mention of his name don’t make my heart feel like it’s going to pound so hard in my chest that soon it’ll give up. He shouldn’t have helped me when I fell; I wished he’d just left me. Left me so I could just fall on the cold stone ground letting the students trample all over my body, I rather that then hear such hate in his tone. Such resentment for someone he hardly knew.
I found it hard to swallow dinner, I felt as if a lump as big as a California grape was stuck in my throat. Mom wasn’t at the dining table today; she’s working night shifts at her new job in a book store. I was happy for her; she’s finally doing something she wants to do not what people expect her to do. She loves books, they fascinate her. I think I inherited my love for books from her.
When I finished forcing myself to eat my dinner that Fiona cooked I offered to clean up, it’s the least I can do. Washing the dishes wasn’t a challenge. I quite liked the soap bubbles splattering my polo shirt. I always seemed to be covered in soap by the end of it. It didn’t bother me; I could easily wash my clothes later. Troy was in the other room playing a silly video game that I would never understand. When I was done washing up I thought a nice warm coffee would boast up my energy.
I poured the liquid into a cup and stood in the middle of the kitchen letting the heat radiating off the cup warm my cold hands. I sipped a bit of the coffee burning my tongue in the process but I didn’t stop. The warmth from the coffee sliding down my throat soothed my cold heart. After a while I’d had enough, the coffee tasted sickly from my absurd amount of sugar.