As Layla adjusts to the numerous restrictions put in place in her home town—a liberal college town—she must accept that people she knows are both coerced and willing to participate in the discriminatory activities. Her father, Ali Amin, is a writer; his books are banned. Public book burnings are held. On her way home one night, before the mandatory curfew, she literally bumps into Mrs. Brown, who owns a bakery, and accidentally knocks her bag of books open onto the ground. One is by her father; their neighbor is taking it to be burned.

She looks down and pushes past me. She won’t even say my name. I shrink into myself. I’m afraid all the time now. Afraid of being reported by strangers, or people I know . . . .

When the men in suits come to their home to take them away, Layla at first believes she has gotten her family into trouble by breaking curfew. As she tries to get them to explain, she realizes the situation is far more dire. The men, “Suits #1 and 2,” push her parents together as they read the official order from the Exclusion Authority:

"We are here to serve notice and carry out your relocation."

They will be taken to a camp near Manzanar—by this the author refers to the site of the infamous World War II Japanese American internment camp in California. They can take only a few possessions, and the Suits confiscate their cell phones.

After the family arrives at the camp, Layla struggles to believe that this is the reality of their situation. The camp consists of block after block of trailers called Mercury Homes. As they settle their few belongings, Layla feels both claustrophobic and furious, but understands that she needs to quickly process the situation. She understands that idleness is the enemy but that on one level she must get to the situation, as a step to organizing her thoughts and formulating a better plan. Layla compares their situation to that of the earlier Japanese Americans.

I know I need to busy myself, because if I continue standing here I’ll slowly fade away. I wonder if that’s how they did it . . . . Maybe they [the Japanese Americans] survived by going through the motions. Day by day. Waking. Counting the hours. Eating dust. Sleeping. That’s my immediate plan for now: Get through it.

Within the camp, Layla soon learns, additional distinctions are made among the Muslims. Conversing with other teenagers, she realizes that the families have all been separated by ethnic group and nationality. With the boy and girl she has befriended, they discuss this tactic.

“Our whole block is desi [Indian-American],” Ayesha says, looking at me. “I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence that they separated us?”

Soheil rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “I don’t think the Authority leaves anything to coincidence.”

“Divide and conquer,” I say.