David and the Outside

Stephen Hawking roamed the classroom in his powered wheelchair, undeterred by the narrow space between the rows. He simply passed through the desks and his students like every hologram instructor did.
"The Higgs boson, though isolated, has never been observed directly," his voice buzzed. "The question, therefore, has yet to be answered as to whether human observation would or would not have an affect on the particle's properties, even to where observation may cause it to change into something else entirely."
David daydreamed he was running through the holographic field of tall grass beyond the wall of glass. Suddenly, physics instructor Hawking's transparent face blurred the view.
"Do you think if you do not see nor hear me I do not exist?" Hawking demanded.
"No, sir," David stuttered.
"You were assigned to my classroom because genetic and mental scan data indicated your ability to grasp particle physics and apply them as a skill to benefit the Underground United States of America," Hawking reminded. "It is too often like you are never really here, David. You demonstrate zero interest. You are very close to facing serious consequences for your inattentiveness. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," David murmured. So they'll put me outside, he thought. Why should I care when that's where I want to be anyway?