The district IT team was locked in a perpetual, losing battle to spot and crack these programs. But on a practical level, the teachers, like Mr. Dane, just had to accept the intrusion. The students didn’t ignore him entirely. But very few of them gave him their full attention. They didn’t give anything their full attention, really. Most of her peers went through their days half-reading two or three conversations, playing games, and scrolling through several social media feeds even when they were out in the world, surrounded by people.

Pastor Mike called it “the death of joy.” That was the name of the essay in Revelator that had first turned Sasha onto the Heavenly Kingdom. He’d railed against “distraction culture,” which he said not only robbed mankind of a relationship with God, “but it also robs us of the little moments. The quiet joys of living are drowned by a flood of data. It’s a mosquito bite on the human soul, and the masses have convinced themselves that the abatement of discomfort from scratching this itch is the same as happiness.”

All around her, classmates scratched their itches while Mr. Dane lectured. He looked so lonely up there. They all looked lonely.

“So,” Mr. Dane cleared his throat in an attempt to pull at least a few of his students out of their stupor, “as we close this unit I’d like to ask you all a simple question: what should we call the war that split the United States? Your textbook calls it ‘The Second American Civil War.’ In the Northwest and the Christian States, they call it ‘The Revolution.’ By next Monday, I’d like each of you to upload an essay arguing which name is more appropriate. One thousand words, please.”

The bell rang. The other students got up slowly, in twos and threes, and made for the door. Sasha was one of the first up. But Mr. Dane called to her before she reached the exit.

“Ms. Marion, would you mind holding back a moment?”

Sasha stiffened. She glanced, involuntarily, up to one of the government’s propaganda posters on the wall. It showed a young man with a brightly-colored backpack surrounded by burnt-out buildings and rubble. A green rocket hung above him like the Sword of Damocles, an instant away from impact. Next to the young man were the words, “Think Again. Step Back.”

“Yes sir?” she asked as she approached his desk.

Mr. Dane fixed her with a kind smile. He looked around forty, although that was no guarantee of anything. His eyes and lips were creased with smile lines though. She liked that about him.

“You seemed a little bit distracted today, Sasha. That’s not uncommon for most of my students,” he gave a slightly forced laugh, “but you’re normally so engaged. I just wanted to make sure everything’s OK.”