Chatterbox: Inkwell

Last night I started writing a story, and I decided to post it on here piece by piece. I honestly have no idea what's going to happen in it, and I'm going to come up with it as I go. If you guys have any tips, suggestions, things I could improve, or ideas about what could happen next, please tell me. It would be a big help. So, without further ado, here is the first part.

My name is Emily Durham, and I am the only misfit in a family of perfectionists. My mother, for example, is the epitome of perfect, normal, and in my opinion, bland. Janie Durham knows everyone in town and always looks and acts, well... perfect. Her golden blond hair falls in a veil of bouncy curls at her shoulders, while my long dirty blond locks are constatly tangled, no matter what I do to tame them. Her dazzling blue-green eyes and rosy cheeks take every man's breath away, whille my eyes are a dull blue-gray, and my skin is as pale as a ghost and covered in dark freckles. My mother's clothes are always perfectly ironed and matching, and when she speaks, it is in an angel's voice. My clothes are almost always rumpled and streaked with dirt or sweat and most days they are just a pair of ripped jeans and an old t-shirt. And the cherry on top of my disaster sundae is my height. I am 5'9", taller than every girl, and most boys in my middle school, which makes me stand out like a kangaroo in the middle of a herd of sheep.                               My dad, Johnathan Durham was the only person in my family who really understood me, but I haven't seen him since he joined the army 6 months ago. When he was home, he was only inside for meals, chores, and sleeping. He spent every second that he could outside. I've been on countless hikes and camping trips with him, and we loved exploring the vast woods in our backyard.          

"Isn't this great Em?" he would say, "We have a whole forest all to ourselves."

I am the only person in my family who takes after my father and most days I come in for dinnner with sticks and leaves stuck in my knotted hair, and dirt covering my arms, face, and clothes. I often walk in barefoot with lakewater dripping from my legs and scrapes on my bare knees. My dad calls me a free spirit. My mom calls me crazy.

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So, what do you think?