Her name, weight, and height were listed; so was the address where she’d grown up, playing beneath tall pines and selling five-cent rocks that she’d painted with nail polish.
Something Du Buc had done at the age of ten had caught up with her.
When I spoke to the victim, he was shocked to learn of Roberts’s fate.
He described the playground offense as an act of “public humiliation, instead of a sexual act”—a hurtful prank, but hardly a sex crime.
“High school was bliss for me,” Du Buc said recently.
“I tried not to dwell on the stuff that wasn’t good.” But, as she was about to start her freshman year at Western Michigan University, she got a call from a close childhood friend, Victoria, who asked, “Did you know you’re on the public sex-offender registry?
Online browsers would see only the words on the page: “”A senior in college now, Du Buc was tired of hiding.The essay aired details about her past that she’d long tried to suppress; by posting it on her class’s server, where anyone who Googled her name could find it, she thought she might be able to quiet the whispers, the threats, and possibly make it easier to find a job.Her story, she warned, “is not a nice one, but hopefully it will have a happy ending.”Du Buc had grown up in Howell, Michigan, a small town of berry and melon farmers. She had earned straight A’s, written for the school newspaper, led Students Against Driving Drunk (she voted to change the name to Students Against Destructive Decisions, she says, to stress that “there are lots of bad decisions that can get you killed”), and performed in “Grease” and “Once Upon a Mattress,” while working part time as a cashier at Mary’s Fabulous Chicken & Fish.Gravens was arrested, placed on the public registry, and sent to juvenile detention for nearly four years.Now, at twenty-nine, he’s become a leading figure in the movement to strike juveniles from the registry and to challenge broader restrictions that he believes are ineffectual.