Solving for the Unknown

by Loan Le

Overview

“A sweet love story of self-discovery and mutual support” (Kirkus Reviews), this slice-of-life companion to A Pho Love Story follows two Vietnamese American students who find themselves at a crossroads—between family expectations, personal identity, and relationships.

To his friends back home, Viet Ho is calm and collected and a lovable oddball who nurses an obsession with forensic science. He’s relieved to escape to UC Davis and escape from being caught between his feuding bickering immigrant parents. But with the whirlwind of campus life and the weight of his depression pressing in, Viet begins to wonder if he can truly outrun the version of himself he left behind.

Evie Mai is the classic overachiever: a junior biology major, model eldest daughter, and girlfriend to a charming, well-connected future doctor. But while her résumé is flawless, her relationship is fraying—and she’s starting to question whether the future she’s worked so hard for is one she actually wants. Hoping to reconnect, she and her boyfriend both join a student-run clinic, but the experience reveals just how out of sync they’ve become.

When an awkward accident throws Viet and Evie together, a friendship sparks over shared memories, late-night conversations, and quiet support neither of them knew they needed. As their bond deepens, so does the pull between them—challenging everything they thought they knew about love, family, and what it means to belong.

A slow-burn romance that is tender and quietly powerful, Solving for the Unknown is about stepping off the path you were told to follow—and finding something unexpectedly beautiful in the process.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781665917162
Publisher:	Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers
Publication date:	02/03/2026
Edition description:	Reprint
Pages:	336
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.76(d)
Age Range:	14 - 18 Years

About the Author

Loan Le is the author of Solving for the Unknown and A Pho Love Story, a YA rom-com that earned praise from NPR, PopSugar, Bustle, Bon Appetit, USA TODAY, and BuzzFeed. She published her YA speculative short story in the anthology Firsts & Lasts. Loan is also a senior editor at Atria Books, where she acquires genre-bending adult fiction. When she isn’t writing young adult novels, she’s making sourdough bread, trying to keep her plants alive, watching true crime documentaries, and working on her adult novel. Visit her website at WriterLoanLe.me and find her on X @LoanLoan and Instagram @LoanLoanLe.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1: Việt CHAPTER 1 VIỆT
All Vietnamese kids understood that the stork story could never apply to them. Sure, the idea was great. Việt even thought it was comforting that a majestic bird could have carried him in its secure beak before delivering him home. Unfortunately, Việt’s real origin story, according to his parents, was that they found him in some trash can, with ants crawling over him—an embellishment they liked to add before uncontrollably laughing.

Việt’s parents learned their jokes from their parents, which basically meant they didn’t learn how to tell jokes at all.

As he grew older, Việt realized he was carefully planned, like everything else in his parents’ lives. They waited to have him until their wholesale distributor business in Westminster was stable. But since that took years and years, his parents had more gray hair than other parents of classmates his age.

Especially the ones here. Việt’s mom and dad never experienced college life or move-in day; they didn’t know what to expect, so they looked unusually lost as they stood in the Tercero parking lot at UC Davis, surrounded by other incoming freshmen and their families rushing from their cars to the dorms.

“I’ll get my welcome packet. I’ll be back,” Việt said just as his parents started whisper-arguing.

The minute he turned, he exhaled. He should be used to this—all their arguments. During the car ride, beneath the crooning of Vietnamese ballads, his parents blew up at each other after Ba took a wrong turn. Suburban areas turned rural, then back to suburban and then eventually, the town and the campus was a mixture of the two. When they finally reached the parking lot, his mom came out of their van scowling. A familiar, uneasy feeling swelled inside Việt. With him gone, how were they going to survive each other?

At the check-in table, upperclassmen Student Housing volunteers were way too peppy, but their energy was contagious, so Việt’s wariness waned, and the excitement that started up last night returned. He was here, finally. A volunteer handed him a twenty-minute unloading pass and a thick folder containing plans for this week’s Aggie Orientation.

Soon enough, other leaders redirected his father to park closer to the curb outside Laben Hall and helped them unload the trunk. The students were surprised when Mẹ also got to work immediately. His mom was barely five feet and might look like she knitted for fun, but in reality, she was weight-lifting crates of fresh produce all over Bolsa every day.

Laben Hall was sandwiched between Campbell and Kearney. Inside the dorm, the air was ripe with Lysol, flowery perfumes, and pungent cologne. The hallways were narrow, walls covered by flyers in serial-killer block letters. Scratch that; maybe Việt shouldn’t have stayed up late watching reruns of CSI: Miami.

As they passed different rooms, he heard roommates and parents in conversation. Laughter exploded from somewhere at the end of the hall, but all was quiet on their end.

Việt and his parents stood before a door with a plaque reading ROOM 136. Hands full, Ba urged Việt forward with his hip, which was made of iron, apparently, because the next thing he knew, he was through the door, nearly landing face down.

His new roommate and his parents turned; they weren’t what Việt expected.

Instagram stalking had easily led him to Wren’s page. His posts showed off his chalk art and wall graffiti, but Việt couldn’t find a clear photo of him.

Over boba at 7 Leaves, Việt had passed Wren’s profile to Bảo and Linh. After checking out Wren’s art, Linh, also a painter, said she’d love to meet him. Bảo asked if he should be worried about “competition,” prompting Linh to steal back the strawberry boba they were sharing. He didn’t even protest. Bảo was so whipped for her. They were sickening.

What Việt didn’t expect to see was a kid wearing khakis and a polo shirt—but why was it buttoned up all the way to the top?

They exchanged poorly timed hellos. Wren’s dad matched with his own pressed khakis, and his mother had on a white blouse, pink pants, and beige flats. She reminded Việt of a rich woman on Law & Order or Criminal Minds, the character who was always sure her corporate loves-golf-but-is-too-busy-to-uphold-the-sanctity-of-marriage husband or her precious I-punch-holes-in-the-wall son were innocent of any crime.

Meanwhile, Việt’s parents had on jeans and loose shirts so they could easily move around.

Well, this should be interesting.

“Now, tell me, how do you pronounce that name of yours?” Dad Khaki finally asked.

“Yeah, it’s Việt,” he answered, lowering his pitch.

“Wow, that’s an interesting name.” Oh, perfect. “Say that again, I want to try it.”

“Well, in Vietnamese, the letter e in my name has an underdot, so the tone is lower. It feels like your throat is tightening when you say it,” he explained. “But it might be easier for you to imagine saying the first half of the word Vietnam.”

“Ah, well, I didn’t think it’d be that easy! How’s this?” The man tried to pronounce Việt’s name but couldn’t get the tone right.

“Um, well—”

“Dad, just pronounce it like he said and stop torturing all of us. It’s Việt,” Wren interjected. His pronunciation was close to the Vietnamese way. In the middle of folding cardboard boxes, his top button had come loose, and he was brushing back hair away from his eyes. “I go by Wren because they had the bright idea of naming me Wrendell. Goes to show you that they shouldn’t be naming anyone, like ever.”

Wren’s father shot Việt a sheepish grin, then busied himself with moving his son’s boxes from the hallway and into the room. As they all unpacked, Wren’s chatty mother pestered Việt and his parents with questions, which Việt answered himself. Ba and Mẹ weren’t familiar with polite small talk with strangers; their work life and social life were deeply embedded in Little Saigon, where people looked like them, used the same language, and shared the same history.

After a while, Wren’s mother switched over to voicing trivial observations—“This room is so small, isn’t it?”—where his parents could nod their agreement. Việt felt bad for judging the woman earlier based on her impractical, well-to-do outfit; she was friendly enough.

Soon, Wren and his family left for dinner.

Ba checked one of the two wardrobes, scowling when he discovered one of the doors wouldn’t close.

“Make sure you switch it with the other one,” he said, and Việt had to laugh. He could be funny sometimes. But Ba’s humor tended to come out at family gatherings, when he had four or five Heineken beers with the other men. Then there was no shutting him up.

Meanwhile, his mom parted the curtains of a window. Dust motes danced in the air. She peered outside as if she was expecting someone.

Ba placed the last cardboard box onto his desk. It had most of Việt’s books and DVDs—and some things he didn’t want his dad to see.

“Uh, I can do it—”

But in Ba’s hand was The Forensic Casebook, a rare title in English that was shoved into one of Tự Lực Bookstore’s crowded shelves, forgotten.

Việt stilled.

Truth was, he had never intended to tell his parents about his idea to go into forensic science. But then he watched his best friend, Bảo—who never cared so much about anything—find his calling as a writer and an editor, and finally told his parents nearly a year ago. They proudly hung up one of his articles. Turned out they didn’t care what Bảo did; they only wished he could find a passion.

Their reaction gave Việt hope. And he thought maybe his parents would want the same thing for him. He brought it up at dinner at around the same time—and found he was completely wrong.

Their meal forgotten, his father had started ranting about how much he and his mother sacrificed to give Việt a stable life, to pave him a path to somewhere, versus the literal and figurative dirt road they had to navigate when they’d landed in America. For their son to show interest in a “fake” science like forensics was akin to taking an ill-advised detour or a major wrong turn.

“Passion? What is passion, you Americanized kids all talk about?” His dad had looked to his mother across the kitchen table, as if she’d have the answer. She showed confusion rather than share his father’s anger. “We cannot afford to have passions.”

Like usual, Việt let his dad rant. He picked at the rice in his bowl as his dad’s emphasis on afford echoed in his head. He knew what his father was getting it. Việt had gotten into a couple of schools—big names, like the ones his parents’ friends often name-dropped—but with little to no scholarships attached and knowing the number of loans he’d need to take to attend, they all agreed to choose a good state school. Because that was what they could afford to do.

It wasn’t like he had his eyes set on Stanford or whatever big-shot school. Never did. He just wanted—

What Việt really wanted to tell his parents—

His mind returned to the present. Việt took the book from Ba and slid it underneath his other textbooks—for his “real science” classes.

“I think I can handle it from here,” he said quietly.

His dad opened his mouth, but his mom interrupted them from a few feet away.

“This isn’t working. Not cold.” She was bent over, placing her hand inside the mini fridge. Ba went over to check on it himself. As Mẹ stood up, she shot Việt a tired, almost understanding smile.

“The school can’t even give you a working fridge?” Ba complained.

Grateful for the distraction, Việt joked with Ba: “Do you want me to switch it with a fridge from another room?”

“Can you?”

Mẹ lightly slapped Ba’s shoulder, telling him in Vietnamese that this would only get Việt in trouble. It was a familiar but rare move—that slap. Fun. They didn’t seem to have any fun these days. Maybe work was getting tough; by the time they came home, they looked like they lost days of sleep.

Turned out the fridge worked; it was just the outlet that was bad.

When it was time for his parents to leave, Ba pulled out his wallet and offered Việt some money. “Nè. Take it.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t need any money.” He’d saved enough from working at Bảo’s family restaurant.

“Thôi, don’t argue.” Ba physically pried open his fingers, placing five hundred dollars in his palm. He must have taken it out just this morning because the bills were still crisp. “Use it on whenever con need it. Text Ba if con cần more.”

Việt accepted it. “Cảm ơn, Ba.”

If they were another pair of son and father, they would have hugged. But his dad always kept his emotions bottled up. So, Ba settled with a pat on Việt’s shoulder, and Việt knew what he was trying to say.

His mother reached for his free hand. “Study hard. Be careful. Don’t forget to call Mẹ. At least every weekend. Đừng lo cho Mẹ. And if con don't call, Mẹ will drive back up.” The threat was undercut by the tremble in her voice.

Guilt washed over Việt. He thought about the emptiness of the house after his parents’ explosive arguments—nasty words and insults worming through the air vents. He thought of his hesitant steps toward the kitchen, where his mom would often distract herself by washing the dishes. By then, Dad was always gone, driving to clear his mind. He’d come back later.

They had been three for as long as Việt could remember. With him six hours away this year, how would they function as two?

Who would be there for his mother when she needed someone to listen to her rant? His mother always told him not to feel buồn, but who would be there to soothe her sadness?

Yeah, a part of him was glad to be away. An escape from being his parents’ buffer.

But the image of his mother in his head, in that kitchen, was heartbreakingly tiny.

Việt squeezed her hand. “I’ll call. Promise.”

Now he was alone. Việt sat on the bed, even though his duffel bag with his running shoes challenged him from across the room, urging him to move instead of remaining still. Because nothing good ever happened when he was still. The setting sun entered through the window, slicing up Wren’s side of the room. Music blared from down the hall—some sort of gathering. He tried to will the earlier excitement from today to come back to him. To fight away the familiar sadness.

College was going to be good. Everything would be all right.

Editorial Reviews

2024-12-14
Vietnamese American college students navigate pressures, expectations, and the future in this companion toA Phở Love Story (2021).

Entering the University of California, Davis, is a big adjustment for Việt. Between worrying about not being around to act as middleman in his parents’ rocky relationship and feeling unmoored in this new setting, he falls into depression again. After an initial not-so meet-cute, Việt keeps finding himself in the orbit of third-year student Evie, older sister to Linh, a friend from home. Their genuine connection leads to budding feelings that he tries to keep in check. Aspiring pediatrician Evie has a boyfriend, Jake, but she wonders whether he’s truly meeting her emotional needs. Le tackles college coming-of-age beats—dating and breaking up, attending sloppy parties, meeting a new roommate, finding chosen family—portraying them with welcome cultural nuance and heartfelt characterization. Evie and Việt struggle with loneliness and guilt connected to their family obligations, as they grapple with putting some of their own desires first and figuring out who they want to become. It’s easy to root for this pair as they come out of their shells and into their own, separately and together. Le explores topics such as mental health, wealth and privilege, and providing emotional support to others. The story’s slice-of-life format and the carefully built foundation of the leads’ friendship make for a leisurely pace in this solid slow-burn friends-to-lovers romance.

A sweet love story of self-discovery and mutual support.(Romance. 14-18)

Kirkus Reviews