Julia's mother takes her out to Broadway for their last evening. It's a rare treat, because she's old enough now to attract lots of mals, and in the theatre mundane attention is too directed at the play to be much help. They get a box, ward it, station some security guards. She's not the tastiest thing in New York City tonight. Nothing comes.
They get back with two hours to spare - they picked an early showing - and Julia goes around hugging everyone and rolling her eyes at Chloe and Orion and Magnus and Emma and Bennett and Silas and Fiona, who are being similarly fussed over while they wait turns to weigh in. Julia's not that scared. Everything's going to suck, intensely, for the next four years, but she's smart and she's had tutoring in English, Mandarin, Hindi and Spanish plus Greek and Latin so she can access ancient spells and Nahuatl, and Njerep for distinctiveness. She's been drilled on everything she's likely to run into, and she can hold a shield and fry a thing in six of her languages. She could get unlucky, sure, but you can also get unlucky crossing the street in New York. She's had luck-enhanced surgeries for better hearing and vision, and she's wearing a shirt literally beaded with protective charms and Orion, now that everyone is aware of his power-sharers problem, is going to keep their reserves topped up at all times, to the point where half of what everyone's carrying in is just more power storage because Orion necessitates it.
The other half are things that Julia and her parents came up with together. Her parents clearly found this a lot more agonizing than Julia did. She's taking six outfits, all of them thoroughly enchanted for her safety and for healing minor scrapes if she does catch any; three pairs of athletic shoes; a power-sharer, also configured to summon Orion if she gets into any trouble; an array of healing and renewing potions even though the enclave in the Scholomance already has a decent one, a couple jars of enchanted spices that should make the food taste better, three dozen tiny bead-lights so she can decorate her room like it has Christmas lights hanging on the walls, which her room at home does, lipstick that alerts her to if her food is poisoned and moisturizer that also makes her need less sleep and mascara that lets her see life-force.
She has art supplies and a fountain pen that never runs out of ink, inherited from her mother's school days, even though the enclave in the Scholomance is not exactly short on school supplies, all the seniors leave those behind. She had a treatment on her teeth so she won't need to brush them. Chloe has the shared first-aid kit refills, and Julia's trying not to take it at all personally that Julia's mother is hovering around Chloe making sure it has abortion pills, and Magnus has a backup crank generator in case the one that last year's kids brought in has been smashed somehow, and Bennett has twelve pounds of desserts for birthdays and special occasions, though they're the obnoxious fortified-with-everything kind that always taste slightly of iron, and Silas and Fiona have the care packages for the upper classmen.
Her mother hugs her. "We're going to miss you so much!" she says.
"I'll miss you too," says Julia, who is mostly going to miss the internet, and being around boys who regularly shower, and her terrier, Trisket.
Her father hugs her. "Give Annaka our love, tell her we miss her too, tell her that she'd better be careful, on graduation -"
"Dad, she's not just going to forget to be careful on graduation."
"Here," says Julia's mother, and hands Julia a pill. "Let it dissolve on your tongue. It's for the nausea - can't have you feeling sick on your very first day of school - and it looks like we've got some slack on the weight limit, so I'm going to pack some -"
"Mom, Chloe has the first aid kit."
"Yes, but you've got half a pound!" Her mother tucks it into her backpack. "Can we get her some more of those croissants, James-"
"You should share them with Annaka," her father says sternly. The croissants are nourishing like a hearty full meal, though they, too, have the tasting-slightly-of-iron problem. It's the preservation magic.
Julia accepts half a pound of croissants, because it's fairly gauche, to show up at the Scholomance not even at your weight limit. And probably Annaka'll mind the tasting slightly of iron less, reportedly the Scholomance really lowers your standards. She lets the pill dissolve on her tongue.
"We'll watch so many shows, when you get out," her mother says worriedly.
"I'm sure you'll be unbearable," says Julia. "Tell Teddy I died, it'll keep him on his toes."
"Julie!" says her father, and then induction saves her from any more of that.
She isn't nauseous.