VIDEO: When “Quite Kid” entered the stage and the music began, all of the bullies burst out laughing. Check the comments 👇 👇

Many students can showcase their talents at high school talent shows. One of the finest ways to gain notoriety among peers is to perform in front of the entire school, despite the fact that some students may feel a little awkward about it.

A young boy named Brett Nichols surprised his peers, professors, and everyone else who witnessed him rock the stage by dancing to the late Michael Jackson’s song “Billy Jean.” It’s amazing how accurately a teenager can imitate the classic dances. Brett overcomes gravity as “The King of Pop” himself.

The crowd goes crazy watching the fantastic dancing skills thanks to the stunning choreography. As little Brett enters the stage, the audience can’t stop clapping. His attire—a black suit, a black hat, a white shirt, and white socks—adds to the effectiveness of the entire performance. This young man performs a Michael Jackson impression while dancing to the music.

It’s amazing how effortlessly he completes the routine and how it appears that he is flying instead of touching the ground. He’ll be perceived as having done this a million times before. He is that good, after all.

Millions of people have watched the footage of Brett’s bizarre dance abilities and concur that the moonwalk he breaks out into is not something we see every day. To master those moves, courage is just as important as talent.

After his initial appearance at Pitman High School in Turlock, California, Brett was able to showcase his talent on The View on NBC, CNN, and ABC News. Additionally, he has toured with Michael Jackson tribute groups.

It’s extremely moving how, while not being physically present among us, Michael Jackson’s presence can still be felt through his songs and those like Brett who find inspiration in his work.

You will undoubtedly be in wonder after watching this young boy’s astounding performance in the video below. Such maneuvers demand extraordinary dancing ability to execute.

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…