Gladiola may not be good at perceiving other people's emotions, but she can feel the resentment.

It's relatively recent.  When she first arrived in the enclave three years ago, she stuck out like a sore thumb: the only white girl in the entire enclave, and a redhead to boot, but she might as well have been invisible.  No one spoke to her, and the teachers made it clear enough that even she couldn't miss it that volunteering answers was not welcome from her, but they didn't hate her yet.

It would be hard enough to pack even if she was just going to be invisible to the rest of them.  She weighs 140 pounds and can't bring herself to cut her hair.  Three feet of hair plus the enchanted hair clips to keep it safe, clean and detangled weigh an entire pound, but she can't bring herself to cut her hair.  She managed to fit in the minimal necessary clothes, and an enchanted pocketknife, plus her power-sharer in the three pounds that were left after five pounds of coconut coir, four pounds of vermiculite, one of dried fertilizer, and her precious assortment of seeds.

If she was just going to be invisible, being tall and muscular might be an advantage sometimes, even with crap hand-eye coordination and no running ability to speak of.

At the beginning she was invisible.  Now, they hate her.  Now she is on her way to the Scholomance in the place of one of their own.

When the tug comes, she doesn't throw up.