He has a vague idea--he remembers games he used to play. He remembers games Modesty plays, hopscotch and the song. He remembers the song from what Ma taught him, too. They didn't have a chance to play, not necessarily. At least Credence didn't.

She's more lenient on his sisters.

Sam talks and Credence stares, listening and looking at the carved pieces already. There's something about the other that's inherently likable, something that Credence can't put a finger on. He's not ready to trust Sam--he doesn't trust anyone--but he feels like he can speak. Like just maybe, he can hold a conversation.

"Chutes and ladders doesn't need a lot of pieces," he suggests, quiet and almost to himself. "May I?" he gestures to a wooden piece, asking if he can examine it.