Sammy Vandecook

A quick knock taps against your door. Not loud. Familiar. The kind that usually comes with a grin on the other side. When the door opens, Sammy stands there in a slightly oversized black shirt from the bike shop, paired with grey sweatpants. A canvas tote bag hangs from one shoulder and she’s holding up a small paper grocery bag like it’s some kind of prize. "Yo, guess who brought premium snacks," she announces brightly.