Sara Socalong walked into the square at noon with a pocket full of old tokens and a man's name she would not say out loud. Her belly led the way. Purple skin, glowing eyes, a stomach she had grown over six months of bad food and then decided to keep. The man she wanted had looked at her belly before her face. Scarlett wanted him too. Today Sara meant to settle which one of them he came home to. The fountain at the center of the square threw bright water in slow arcs. Men gathered there at lunch to eat and talk. Sara picked her spot on the rim and sat. She did not call out. She lifted the hem of her shirt an inch, rested both hands on the curve of her belly, and waited. One man looked. Then two. Then a small crowd drifted over from the food stalls. "Go on," she said to the closest one. "It doesn't bite." He laughed and put his palm flat on her stomach. Sara held still, kept her hands quiet at her sides, and let a long, low burp roll out of her throat. The man jumped, then laughed harder. The others pressed closer. She burped again, smaller, sharper, on cue. A cheer went up. She reached into her pocket and pressed a worn metal token into the laughing man's hand. "Keepsake," she said. "So you remember who showed you." He turned it in his fingers like it meant something. Across the square, Scarlett sat alone on a wooden bench with her arms crossed over her own belly. Tall, red-skinned, black hair pulled back. She did not move. She watched Sara hand out a second token, then a third. She watched the man she wanted step out of the crowd and join the ring at the fountain. He came right up to Sara. He did not look at her face first this time either. He put his hand on her belly without asking. Sara let the burp come up slow, right against his palm. He did not pull back. He laughed, loud, and the crowd laughed with him. Sara pressed a token into his free hand and closed his fingers around it. "Yours," she said. He nodded once and did not let go of her belly. Scarlett stood up from the bench. She walked across the square in the steady, owning way Sara had spent a week copying in her kitchen. She stopped at the edge of the ring, looked at the man's hand on Sara's stomach, and looked at the token in his fist. "Cute trick," she said. Her mouth stayed a hard line after. Sara smiled and burped once more, soft, just for her. Scarlett turned and walked back the way she came. The man stayed.

Scarlett came back at sundown. Sara was still by the fountain when she heard the boots stop in front of her. The man she had claimed at noon stood a few paces off, the token still in his fist. Scarlett did not look at him. She looked at Sara's belly. "One contest," she said. "Burps. Loser rubs the winner's belly until the winner says stop." Sara stood up slow. She pulled a folded page from her pocket, sealed under clear resin with her name on it, and held it up so the man could see. "Then we sign," Sara said. Scarlett pressed her thumb to the resin. So did Sara. They walked to the raised stone slab at the edge of the square, the one ringed with bright crystals and patched with glowing moss. A crowd followed. Word moved fast. Men set down their drinks at the food stalls and crossed over. Someone dragged a curved stone chair to the foot of the slab and set it facing the crowd. The armrests caught the light from the crystals and threw it back blue. Everyone knew what the chair was for. Sara set the sealed page on the seat so the ink showed. Sara climbed up first. Scarlett climbed up after. They stood three steps apart. Sara lifted her shirt to the bottom of her ribs and rested both hands on her belly. Scarlett did the same. The man Sara had claimed pushed to the front. He did not pick a side. He watched. Scarlett went first. She drew in a long breath, pressed her palm under her belly, and let out a burp that rolled across the square like a dropped barrel. The crowd cheered. Sara answered with one of her own, lower, longer. The cheer got louder. Scarlett went again, sharper. Sara matched it. They traded burps back and forth, rubbing their bellies in slow circles to push more air up. Sara kept her free hand still at her side. Scarlett's free hand kept moving, tugging her shirt, brushing her hair. Sara filed it. On the eighth round Scarlett's burp came short. She coughed at the end of it. Sara drew in deep, set both hands flat under her stomach, and pushed out a burp so loud the men at the back of the crowd whooped. Scarlett opened her mouth. Nothing came. She closed it. She tried once more and got a small dry sound. The crowd went quiet, then started to laugh. Scarlett stepped back. "Yours," she said. Sara picked up the sealed page from the chair and sat down in it herself. She pointed at the stone floor in front of her boots. Scarlett knelt. She put both hands on Sara's belly and began to rub, slow, the way the contract said. The man stepped up beside the chair and watched Scarlett's hands work. He did not look away. Sara did not say stop.

Scarlett's hands kept moving on Sara's belly long after the crowd thinned. The crystals on the chair armrests dimmed as the sun dropped. The man Sara had claimed stood at her shoulder, his own hand resting flat above Scarlett's. Sara felt the air gather under her ribs. She let it climb. The burp rolled out slow and low, right over Scarlett's head. Scarlett's hands paused. The man laughed once, short. Sara tapped the contract page in her lap and pointed Scarlett's hands back to work. A small painted sign hung from the post beside the slab, bright letters calling all belly lovers. Sara had not noticed it during the contest. She noticed it now. She pushed up from the chair, contract in one hand, and stepped down off the stone. "Up," she told Scarlett. "You're not done. Bring it inside." She nodded to the low stone building set back from the square, the one with moss running blue along its cracks. The man fell in behind her. Scarlett stood, brushed her knees, and followed. Inside, the walls glowed soft from the moss in the seams. The floor stone carried a worn pattern under their boots. A metal seat sat at the center, low and wide, crystal clusters glowing pink and blue on its arms. Sara sat. She lifted her shirt to her ribs again and set the contract on the armrest where Scarlett could read it. "Both hands," Sara said. "Slow circles. Same as before." Scarlett knelt on the stone pattern and put her hands back on Sara's belly. Sara drew in deep and burped against the quiet of the chamber. The sound bounced off the stone and came back doubled. The man stepped closer. He set his hand on the side of her belly where Scarlett's hands were not. He rubbed in time with Scarlett. Sara burped again, smaller, into his wrist. He did not pull back. He laughed low and pressed a little harder. Scarlett's eyes flicked up to his face, then down to her own hands. Sara let it run. She burped six more times across the next stretch, each one timed to the rub. The man kept his hand on her. Scarlett kept her hands moving. Sara watched Scarlett's mouth go tight, then loose, then tight again. She filed it. On the last burp, Sara reached down, took the man's hand, and slid it under hers on the top of her belly. She left it there. Scarlett saw. "Stop," Sara said. Scarlett's hands lifted at once. She sat back on her heels. Sara folded the contract and slid it into her pocket. The man did not move his hand. Scarlett stood, looked at the man's hand on Sara's belly, and walked out of the chamber without a word. Sara felt the man's fingers spread. She had him alone now.