The best Shannon can say about her current situation is that she's not totally definitely fucked. Only most of the way fucked. 

On the bright side, if she does make it out of the Scholomance alive, her talent for languages and her very strong affinity for healing will mean she's set. She's fully fluent in English and French and Mandarin, and conversational in Spanish and Italian and Portuguese, and she can read Church Latin and Ancient Greek. She's smart and diligent and likeable and her parents - through one of her dad's mundane university connections, of all things - were able to wheedle their way into nabbing her one of the spots with the Sacramento enclave. Not even maintenance-track; she's small for her age, and at 42 kg, she can bring a reasonable quantity of her own supplies and still haul in 20kg of goodies for the rich enclave kids.

3 kg of that goes to healing potions that she made herself, at the cost of several hundred hours when she could have been training on the obstacle course or improving her Mandarin or any number of other things. That was part of the deal; Shannon is something of a prodigy when it comes to healing-directed alchemy, and she's been doing it on her own for years. It galls her, though, that the fruits of all that labour are going to kids who already have a 4 in 5 chance of surviving, just to pay for her spot, and meanwhile she, Shannon, doesn't even get to bring toothpaste. 

(It's fine. She's just had a dental checkup, confirming that her teeth are in perfect condition, and she has a potion-recipe for magic mouthwash that murders the heck out of nasty bacteria and rinses away plaque and even strengthens enamel. She can make more. Assuming she survives her first run to the supply room. She's never been any good at fighting, ) 

She has one set of clothes, but they're all hand-sewed by her mother, with protective and self-cleaning enchantments stitched into every seam and woven through the intricate, beautiful embroidery. She has one pair of shoes, far too big, and her spare socks serve to stuff the toes. The second, bigger pair for her to grow into had to be left behind, because Shannon is NOT giving up the notebooks that have all of her alchemy notes from the past six years. 

If she survives.... 

...She's not going to think about that yet. One thing at a time. 

Shannon hugs her parents, and tries not to cry, and waits for the tug that will take her away.