Anything That Isn't This — Chris Priestley

Seventeen-year-old Frank Palp lives in a grim little apartment, in a grim little building, in an exceedingly grim (and rather large) city. Cobbled streets and near-destroyed bridges lead one through Old Town and Old New Town, and war-damaged houses stand alongside post-war characterless, concrete hutches. Most people walk hunched over, a habit from avoiding snipers, but others are proud to stand tall and make the world take notice. Frank mostly hates his life, definitely hates the ludicrous city he is forced to live in, and he hates the idiots he's surrounded by—and yet he is in love. A love so pure and sparkling and colorful, Frank feels sure it is "meant to be." His love is a reward for all the terrible grey that he is surrounded by—which would be great, if the girl in question knew he existed. And then one day, the perfect sign lands in his lap. A wish, for "anything that isn't this." The girl who wrote this is surely his soulmate—and now he just needs to find her.