This is the start of my first (and somewhat autobiographical) story. I would like to improve my fiction writing as much as possible, so any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.
The Mississippi sun was beating down upon the world at the moment my life became perfect. Not the sweat threatening to trickle into my eyes nor the gentle tug of the dog's leash could shake me from one such reverie. I simply stood, a twelve year old girl unable to tear her gaze from the answer to her prayers.
A smile played on my lips as Peaches and I bounded towards the brick house before us. The screen door whined as I passed through to the living room, where the plastic odor of fresh paint caused me to grin wider still. I quickened my pace until reaching the kitchen, and a seemingly ordinary sight of a young man of sixteen years, with shaggy blond hair and torn blue jeans, made my heart leap. He was perched on the counter-top, peeling the skin from an orange.
"What are you smiling about?" he asked warily. I shook my head, still smiling, and knelt to remove our lab's leash.
"Dude, that dog is so fat," the young man chuckled. He was right. Peaches was quite a sight, with her jiggling torso and heavy panting. An unexpected whiff of dog breath wafted my way, and I burst into laughter.
"I know! Poor Peaches." The laughter was still subsiding as I stood; it seemed the funniest joke in the world at that moment. Well, I suppose I'd have laughed at anything the young man said that day. After all, he was my brother, and a part of the reason for why my life became perfect.
Gliding through the front door came another cause of my life's sudden perfection. She was a tall, thin, redheaded teen queen by the name of Beverly, and she was my older sister. Under normal circumstances, Bev was a royal pain, but at that moment, like all else in my life, she was perfect.
After setting down a box marked "kitchen wares", she turned to the young man. "Charles, have you seen Mom?" Our brother hopped off the counter with some poise before answering, "She's in her room. Talking to Elliot, I think."
A look of distaste clouded my sister's face at the words "talking to Elliot", and for a few seconds, the perfection of my world wavered.
"Oh. Well, when she comes out tell her I went to my friend Andrea's house."
That being said, she turned and left. I left as well, out the back door of the house, and headed straight for a shady tree in the far corner of the yard. After surveying it critically, I placed my right foot onto a stable knot, kicked up with my left foot, and swung both arms over a thick branch. I climbed to a greater height with the ease of practice, and, finding a comfortable seat on one of the many branches, contemplated my good fortune.
You see, eight months ago I had been living here in Mississippi with my sister and mother. Then my grandfather in New York became terribly sick, and my mom was the only one of his nine children who was able and willing to live in my grandfather's house and help him. So, Bev, Mom, and I planned on moving there, to the house on Long Island.
Then, at the very last minute, Beverly changed her mind. She decided instead to stay behind with a friend. It wasn't until six long months later, during which time I had shared a room with my mother and a house with countless old relatives, that my grandfather made a recovery and we returned to the south.
At first we stayed in Alabama with my cool Aunt Rosie. Weeks passed in a blur of video games, midnight swims, bowls of berries lathered in whipped cream, and afternoons in the backyard spent romping around with her four dogs. As my aunt said, we were “ladies of luxury lapping it up luxuriously in the lap of luxury”. Still, after two months of living through my aunt's luxury, not having a home of my own started getting to me.
Before we found this brick house back in Mississippi, my brother decided that he wanted to leave my father's house in Arizona and come live with us again. That news sent me into a flurry of euphoria; four years was a long time for me and my brother to have been separated, and I'd often missed him.
Then today, this perfect day, every thread fell into place. My sister, brother, mother, and myself were one family again. Our house sat in southern Mississippi, where all of my friends lived, including Katlyn. We were best friends, and had the phone bill to prove it.
I scratched my hand absently, thinking of the endless opportunities this summer promised. Life was so perfect, so... so...
"AHH!" I cried out, lunging from the tree and onto cracked dirt, scraping my hands and tearing my jeans.
"Stupid fire ants!" Scrambling to my feet, I flicked off a few of the red devils and counted the number of swollen bites running along both arms. Pain seared from my scraped and bloodied hands, causing me to hiss aloud. The neighbor's dog abruptly began barking, and the throb against my forehead meant a headache that could not have been there a second before. Just as I was thinking that this perfect day could not have gone any more rotten, a fat raindrop collided with the tip of my nose. I could have sworn it was sunny not five minutes ago!
It ought to have been taken as an omen. I should have known then what I know now. That is, "Perfect", if it ever does come, does not stick around for long. Blissfully unaware of this, I made for the house to wash the dirt and blood from my hands, toying with the idea of calling Katlyn, and making plans for what was truly going to be a perfect summer.
) I'm Evi. 
Consider rephrasing this.
Overall, I don't really have any main points?