The groundbreaking New York Times bestseller is now adapted for young adults! This is the 200-million-year story of how the female body gave rise to the human species and forever shaped life on Earth and what that means for us in the future. Why do women live longer than men? Why do girls score better at every academic subject than boys until puberty, when suddenly their scores plummet? Is the female brain "wired differently?" These questions and common debates around scientific claims are thoughtfully examined in this adaptation perfect for young people. This brand-new adaptation is a friendly, funny, and engaging read. It explores teen related topics such as mental health and the biology behind it, including insights on how adolescent brains are going through all kinds of changes, and shifting hormones. Author Cat Bohannon explains the roots of sexism and shows how, though it may have even served some evolutionary purpose long ago, it no longer serves us today, and it’s high time we leave it in the past. Filled with amazing stories of both past and present, Eve will delight any young reader looking to understand the body—its amazing history, its wondrous capability, its oddities and mysteries, and its relevance to so many issues captivating contemporary thought and discussion. " [A] thoughtful examination of gendered bodies that will be of interest to readers interested in the intersection of science and social attitudes. A powerful if somewhat overstuffed look at the science of female bodies." — Kirkus Reviews " Will....resonate with those eager to understand their bodies , minds, and place in time." — Booklist " This will intrigue high school students with an interest in the natural sciences or who just want to know the answers to essential questions of human biology." — School Library Journal Cat Bohannon is a researcher and author with a Ph.D. from Columbia University in the evolution of narrative and cognition. Her essays and poems have appeared in Scientific American, Mind, Science Magazine, The Best American Nonrequired Reading, The Georgia Review, The Story Collider, and Poets Against the War. She lives with her family in Seattle. Chapter 1 Milk No sooner had the notion of the Flood subsided, Than a hare paused amid the clover and trembling bellflowers and said its prayer to the rainbow through the spider’s web. Blood flowed in Bluebeard’s house—­in the slaughterhouses—­in the circuses, where God’s seal made the windows blanch. Blood and milk flowed together. —­Arthur Rimbaud, “After the Flood” Got Milk? —­ ad campaign for the California Milk Processor Board, 1993 There in the soft grass, in the wet crush of evening, she was waiting: furred body shining with drops of rain, no bigger than a human thumb. We call her Morgie. Little hunter. One of the first Eves. She waited at the mouth of her burrow because the sky was still pale. She waited because her cells told her to, and her whiskers twitching in the air, and the temperature of the dirt under her footpads. She waited because there were monsters in the world, and they waited for her, too. When the night was dark enough, Morgie risked it, skittering along the ground, searching for her prey—­insects, some nearly as big as she was. She heard them before she saw them: the high-­pitched hum of their wings, the wheezy tapping of their legs. Her skinny muzzle snapped. She loved the sweet crunch of its body, the little dribble of fluid down her chin. She licked it off and resumed the hunt. Never safe to stop. Jaws everywhere. Claws and teeth. The thing that looked like a tree could be a leg; the wind in the ferns could be hot breath. She ran, and hunted, and hid, the wet air as heavy as a fist. She flitted over the feet of dinosaurs like a grass­hopper hopping an elephant’s toe. She felt their low bellows not as a sound so much as an earthquake. This was life every night for Morganucodon: she who lived under giants. When she was tired, she returned to her waiting place, fleeing the gray dawn. She crawled down her tunnel like a lizard, belly dragging over the familiar earth, paws pulling her forward into the close dark of home. The burrow was warm with the soft, radiating heat of her pups, all piled together. The smells of leathery eggs, urine, poop, and dried spit mingled in the damp hole she’d dug for her family. A place safe from the monsters above. Safe enough. Exhausted, she settled in. Her pups woke, blind and chirping, and swam across one another toward her belly, where beads of milk sweated out of her skin. Each pup jockeyed for the best spot. They slurped her wet fur, faces soon coated in milk. She stretched out on her side, whiskers finding the one closest to her head. Lazily she rolled him over on his back, nuzzling his unrolled ears, his thin eyelids, still closed. She dragged her raspy tongue down his belly to help him defecate, which he couldn’t yet do on his own. The milk and the c